THE  REVIVAL 
OF  WONDER 

<$> 

Malcolm  J.  Me  Leod 


LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


PRESENTED  BY 

Princeton  University  Library 


Division _ 

BR  125  . M337  1923 
McLeod,  Malcolm  James,  b. 
1867  . 

The  revival  of  wonder,  and 
of  bar drPRRAR 


THE  REVIVAL  OF  WONDER 


By 

Malcolm  James  McLeod,  D.  D. 

The  Revival  of  Wonder  .  .  $1.25 

Dr.  McLeod  utilizes  apt  illustrations  drawn 
from  everyday  life — from  the  fountains  of  litera¬ 
ture  and  from  the  commonly-shared  experiences 
of  humanity. 

“Songs  in  the  Night  .  .  $1.25 

These  addresses  set  forth  the  comfort  of  God’s 
Presence  in  circumstances  of  difficulty  and  sorrow. 

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“  Chatty,  cheery,  delightful — they  abound  in  coun¬ 
sel,  reflection,  self-revelation.” — Book  News. 

The  Unsearchable  Riches  .  $1.00 

“  Masterly  in  conception,  profound  in  interpreta¬ 
tion,  Dr.  McLeod  is  sure  of  his  message.” 

— Christian  Intelligencer. 

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“  Under  Mr.  McLeod’s  gifted  hand  the  most  com¬ 
monplace  religious  truth  glitters  with  new  fire.” 

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Heavenly  Harmonies  for  Earthly 
Living . 50c. 

“  Admirable  in  combining  to-day’s  scientific 

knowledge  with  eternal  truth.” 

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’■ 

* 


The  Revival  of  Wonder 

And  Other  Addresses 


By 


MALCOLM  JAMES  McLEOD 


Minister  of  Collegiate  Church  of  St.  Nicholas 
New  York  City 

Author  of  “ Songs  in  the  Night,"  " Fragrance  of 
Christian  Ideals,"  “ Earthly  Discords  and 
How  to  Mend  Them,"  etc . 


New  York  Chicago  Toronto 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

London  and  Edinburgh 


Copyright,  1923,  by 

FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago  :  17  North  Wabash  Ave. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh :  75  Princes  Street 


Contents 


I. 

The  Revival  of  Wonder 

9 

II. 

The  Funeral  of  God  . 

17 

III. 

Ten  Times  One  are  Eleven 

28 

IV. 

Millionaires 

42 

V. 

Saints  in  Sodom  . 

52 

VI. 

Conquering  Three  Worlds 

60 

VII. 

Rainbows  in  the  Morning  . 

72 

VIII. 

Rainbows  at  Night 

80 

IX. 

The  Devil  of  Fear 

9i 

X. 

The  Religion  that  Everybody 

Believes  .... 

102 

XI. 

At  the  Shrine  of  Beauty  . 

119 

XII. 

Is  Our  Family  Life  a  Failure  ? 

133 

XIII. 

Preparedness 

M3 

XIV. 

Splitting  Hairs  . 

158 

XV. 

Because  I  Love  America 

169 

XVI. 

The  Skyscraper  and  the  Home 

179 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


% 


https://archive.org/details/revivalofwonderoOOmcle 


I 

THE  REVIVAL  OF  WONDER 


OME  four  or  five  years  ago 
there  passed  away  in  England 
a  man  who  was  not  popularly 
known,  but  a  man  of  very  great 
brilliancy  in  the  firmament  of 
letters.  He  was  a  poet — a 
critic  and  a  romanticist.  His  name  was  Watts- 
Dunton.  He  was  also  quite  a  good  deal  of  an 
artist.  His  sonnets  attracted  the  attention  of 
Rossetti,  with  whom  he  subsequently  studied  art 
in  Italy.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  the  poet 
Swinburne.  He  wrote  a  number  of  books  and 
the  last  book  he  published  had  an  interesting 
title.  He  called  it  “The  Renascence  of  Won¬ 
der.  ”  He  claimed  that  one  of  the  most  hopeful 
features  of  our  time  is  that  the  sense  of  wonder 
is  reviving.  The  motto  of  thirty  years  ago  was 
“Never  wonder/ 9  Oscar  Wilde  told  us  that 
there  was  nothing  worth  seeing  in  Switzerland 
and  that  he  considered  the  Atlantic  tame.  It 
was  the  “Nil  admirari”  theory  of  Horace.  But 
this  spirit,  says  Mr.  Watts-Dun  ton,  is  disappear¬ 
ing.  Men  are  awakening  more  and  more  to  the 
wonder  of  things.  Perhaps  the  most  wonderful 
thing  in  life  is  that  we  do  not  wonder  more. 

9 


to 


Ube  IRevtval  of  Member 


One  of  the  certain  signs  of  growing  old  is  that 
gradually  “shades  of  the  prison  house  close 
around  us”  until  at  length  the  divine  spark 
‘  ‘  dies  away  and  fades  into  the  light  of  common 
day.”  To  become  blase  and  vapid  and  insipid; 
to  be  unmoved  and  unswept  and  unthrilled  by 
the  marks  of  the  marvellous ;  to  allow  familiarity 
to  breed  not  contempt  exactly  but  indifference,  is 
one  of  the  surest  signs  that  youth  is  leaving  us. 
For  one  of  the  charms  of  childhood  is  that  the 
child  is  a  wonderer.  “All  things  are  big  with 
wonder  for  the  bairn,”  the  beating  of  the  rain 
on  the  window-pane,  the  crash  of  the  thunder, 
the  flash  of  the  lightning,  the  whistle  of  the  en¬ 
gine.  How  delightful  to  watch  the  little  fellow 
at  the  circus.  Not  infrequently  he  is  the  best 
part  of  the  show.  And  how  beautiful  to  see  the 
old  man  who  has  held  on  to  this  fresh  relish  of 
his  childhood,  and  to  whom  the  world  with  all  its 
marvellous  sights  is  just  as  exciting  to-day  as 
when  he  was  a  boy.  It  is  what  we  call  the  child 
heart  and  the  sad  fact  is  that  so  many  of  us  let  it 
pine  away  and  die. 

“  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 
A  rainbow  in  the  sky; 

So  was  it  when  my  life  began, 

So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man, 

So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old.” 

For  after  every  learned  pantologist  has  had 
his  say  this  is  a  wonderful  world.  Its  beginning 
is  wonderful,  its  history  is  wonderful,  its  finale 


Ube  1Re\m>al  of  Member 


a 


is  wonderful.  The  creatures  living  on  it  are 
wonderful.  Its  mountains  and  rivers  and  trees 
and  flowers  are  wonderful.  Its  age  is  wonder¬ 
ful.  It  is  all  wonderful,  amazingly,  bewitchingly 
wonderful.  Professor  Robinson,  of  Columbia,  in 
his  “Lectures  on  History’ ’  last  winter  told  us  of 
paleolithic  implements  recently  discovered,  which 
he  reckons  were  made  150,000  years  ago,  but  this 
is  a  mere  drop  in  the  demijohn  compared  with 
the  age  of  these  Manhattan  rocks.  The  astrono¬ 
mer  argues  that  the  world  is  a  hundred  million 
years  old;  the  geologist  says  five  hundred  mil¬ 
lion.  Professor  Hale,  of  the  Mount  Wilson  Ob¬ 
servatory,  California,  has  just  written  a  book 
which  he  calls  “The  New  Heavens.”  He  has  a 
chapter  in  it  called  “The  Giant  Stars.”  Speak¬ 
ing  of  that  new  colossus  of  the  skies,  Betelgeuse, 
whose  diameter  is  215,000,000  miles,  one  is  fairly 
stunned  into  silence.  It  could  swallow  up,  says 
Dr.  Hale,  “more  than  20,000,000  of  our  suns.” 
The  nearest  fixed  star  is  25,000,000,000  miles 
away ;  the  farthest  is  so  remote  that  it  takes  50,- 
000  years  for  its  light  to  reach  us.  These  are 
staggering  stretches. 

And  this  is  only  half  the  mystery.  For  the 
minute  is  as  amazing  as  the  immeasurable. 
While  Michelson  finds  his  romance  in  the  stars, 
Sir  Oliver  Lodge  finds  his  in  the  test  tube.  To 
him  the  really  exciting  things  are  found  in  the 
laboratory.  Immanuel  Kant  said  there  were  two 


XTbe  IReptval  ot  TOonbet 


n 


things  that  filled  him  with  awe,  the  moral  law 
within  and  the  starry  heavens  above.  But  if  the 
great  German  were  living  to-day  would  he  not 
add  a  third  to  his  twosome,  the  infinitesimal 
world  around  him.  Because  there  are  three 
things  that  ought  to  fill  every  reverent  man  with 
awe,  if  he  has  a  faded  tattered  rag  of  reverence 
left — the  sky  and  the  soul  and  the  sod. 

Some  one  has  observed  that  if  all  the  stars 
were  to  cease  shining  to-night  and  not  shine 
again  for  a  whole  year,  and  then  suddenly  were 
to  burst  out  again  in  all  their  twinkling  glory, 
there  is  not  an  eye  that  would  not  be  lifted 
heavenward.  Everybody  would  be  purchasing 
telescopes.  That  seems  to  touch  the  nerve  of 
the  matter.  It  is  not  knowledge  that  is  the 
enemy  of  wonder ;  it  is  familiarity.  Robert 
Hichens  in  one  of  his  stories  tells  of  an  artist 
who  was  painting  a  picture  of  the  ocean.  He 
was  trying  to  express  the  restless  wonder  of  it. 
So  he  went  down  to  the  beach  and  rented  a 
room  for  a  few  months  in  order  to  drink  in  the 
message  of  the  mighty  deep.  Then  in  order  to 
bring  out  his  idea  forcibly  he  thought  it  would 
help  if  he  could  find  a  child  in  whose  eyes  the 
great  salt  waves  reflected  surprise.  He  searched 
through  all  the  village  for  one,  but  in  vain.  All 
the  little  barefooted  tots  he  met  were  so  familiar 
with  the  water  that  the  sight  was  tame  to  them. 
At  last  he  came  back  to  an  inland  town,  and  one 


Qftc  1Re\nv>al  of  Wonfcer 


*3 


day  he  ran  across  a  little  fellow  with  a  bright,  in¬ 
telligent  look,  who  had  never  been  to  the  shore. 
So  he  purchased  a  ticket  and  took  him  down, 
just  to  watch  his  face  when  the  great  sweep  of 
water  first  burst  upon  his  view.  It  happened 
that  a  storm  was  raging  at  the  time,  and  the 
look  of  awe  on  the  lad’s  face  was  just  what  the 
artist  wanted.  It  was  lit  up  with  the  glint  and 
the  glory  of  the  infinite.  He  had  found  his 
model.  It  is  not  knowledge  but  familiarity  that 
is  the  enemy  of  wonder. 

Bishop  Coxe  in  his  hymn  sings,  ‘ 1  We  are  liv¬ 
ing,  we  are  dwelling  in  a  grand  and  awful  time.  ’ 7 
And  as  some  one  adds,  ‘  ‘  Every  day  seems  to  get 
grander  and  awfuller.”  How  many  impossible 
things  are  happening!  Horace  Greeley  would 
have  laughed  if  you  had  suggested  to  him  to  get 
his  news  for  the  Tribune  by  wireless.  If  you 
had  told  Napoleon  what  a  big  Bertha  gun  is  ca¬ 
pable  of  doing  he  would  have  looked  at  you  with 
that  familiar  far-away  stare  of  his.  For  a  gun 
to  throw  a  shell  five  and  seventy  miles  seems  to 
be  verging  on  the  ludicrous.  It  reminds  one  of 
the  story  of  the  man  who  went  to  the  zoological 
gardens  and  when  he  saw  the  rhinoceros,  after 
looking  at  it  a  long  time,  he  turned  away,  saying, 
4 ‘There  ain’t  no  such  beast.”  Our  President’s 
picture  was  recently  transmitted  by  wireless 
from  New  York  to  Paris.  A  few  months  ago  our 
battleship  Iowa  steamed  out  of  Chesapeake  Bay 


Zhc  1Re\nv>ai  of  Monger 


J4 


with  not  a  living  soul  on  board.  Her  throbbing 
engines,  her  mighty  rudder,  and  even  the  fires 
under  her  boilers  were  controlled  by  radio.  The 
man  operating  her  valves  and  pulling  her  levers 
was  miles  away  on  shore.  It  seems  uncanny. 
She  must  have  looked  like  the  mythical  ghost 
ship  of  the  old  Arthurian  legend.  Truly  indeed 
“we  are  living  in  a  grand  and  awful  time. 7 ’ 

One  strange  thing  about  our  Lord  is  that  He 
so  rarely  manifested  any  wonder.  We  are  not 
told  that  the  starry  heavens  ever  called  forth  any 
burst  from  Him  of  admiration  or  emotion.  Noth¬ 
ing  is  said  of  any  natural  phenomena  ever  hav¬ 
ing  moved  Him  to  rapture  or  delight.  Even  on 
the  Mount  of  Transfiguration  it  was  the  disciples, 
not  He,  who  were  dazzled  with  the  glory.  I 
think  there  are  but  two  occasions  in  which  the 
Master  ever  expressed  any  surprise.  We  are 
told  of  many  times  in  which  He  awakened  sur¬ 
prise  in  others,  but  I  can  recall  only  two  in¬ 
stances  in  which  He  is  expressly  said  to  have 
manifested  the  feeling  Himself.  Once  when  He 
was  rejected  by  His  own  people  who  would  have 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  Him,  we  are  told  that 
“He  marvelled  at  their  unbelief.’ ’  And  once 
when  an  utter  stranger,  a  Roman  officer,  sent 
messengers  to  Him  on  behalf  of  his  servant  who 
was  ill;  “Do  not  trouble  to  come  to  me  in  per¬ 
son,  7 7  the  man  implored,  “I  am  not  worthy  that 
thou  shouldst  come  under  my  roof,  but  speak  the 


Ube  tRe\?i\>al  of  TUflonfcer  J5 


word  only  and  my  servant  shall  be  healed.” 
Which  when  Jesus  heard  He  marvelled,  so  the 
record  informs  us,  and  said,  “I  have  not  found 
so  great  faith,  no  not  in  Israel.”  So  it  would 
seem  that  the  real  wonder  to  Jesus  was  the  won¬ 
der  of  the  human  soul. 

‘  ‘  He  marvelled  at  their  unbelief.  ”  How  often 
He  must  marvel  at  ours!  How  often  we  get 
fearful  and  lose  our  sense  of  trust!  When  the 
storm  sweeps  down  upon  us  how  quickly  we  lose 
our  nerve  and  get  into  a  panic !  We  worry  over 
food  and  raiment  and  all  the  other  things,  while 
all  the  time  He  is  saying  to  us,  “What  meaneth 
all  this  fear?  Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air.” 
And  why  take  ye  thought  for  raiment?  Con¬ 
sider  the  lilies  how  they  manage  to  get  along.  So 
many  people  are  always  borrowing  trouble  as  if 
they  did  not  have  a  good  deal  more  than  enough 
of  their  own.  “The  troubles  that  trouble  me 
most,”  says  the  old  Persian  proverb,  “are  the 
troubles  I  never  had.”  There  are  people  who 
are  dead  set  against  borrowing  in  any  shape  or 
form  but  they  do  not  hesitate  to  borrow  trouble. 
I  have  known  men  who  are  so  dead  opposed  to 
the  whole  borrowing  business  that  they  would 
not  ask  you  to  lend  them  an  umbrella  in  a  down¬ 
pour,  but  they  will  load  themselves  down  with 
tons  and  millstones  of  trouble.  I  like  that  story 
of  the  man  who  was  fussing  over  his  work.  Some 
one  said  to  him  one  day,  “Say,  my  good  friend, 


Ufoe  IRepipai  ot  Monbet 


\6 


who  took  care  of  the  world  before  you  came  into 
it  ?  ’  ’  ‘  1  God,  sir,  ’ 5  was  the  answer.  ‘ ‘  And  can ’t 
you  trust  Him  to  take  care  of  it  when  you  leave 
it?  ” 

In  the  case  of  the  centurion,  however,  it  was 
not  the  man’s  unbelief  but  his  belief  that  called 
forth  the  Master ’s  eulogy.  He  did  not  expect  it. 
It  was  like  finding  a  treasure  in  the  attic.  It 
was  like  stumbling  across  a  flower  in  the  desert. 
The  man  had  had  no  spiritual  opportunities.  He 
was  just  a  heathen  soldier.  No  seed  had  ever 
been  scattered  in  that  soil.  And  the  Master  is  so 
pleased  and  filled  with  wonder  that  He  says,  “I 
have  not  found  so  great  faith,  no,  not  in  Israel,’ ’ 

“  Waken,  O  world,  if  ye  would  glimpse  the  wonder 
Of  God’s  great  primal  plan! 

Open,  O  ears,  if  ye  would  hear  the  thunder 
Hurled  from  the  heights  to  man! 

“  The  only  death  is  death  in  man’s  perception ; 

The  only  grave  is  grave  of  blinded  eyes ; 

Creation’s  marvel  mocks  at  man’s  deception — 

It  is  man’s  mind  that  from  its  tomb  must  rise ! 

“How  long  shall  Christ’s  high  message  be  rejected? 
Two  thousand  years  have  passed  since  it  was  told. 
Must  One  again  be  born  and  resurrected, 

Ere  man  shall  grasp  the  secret,  ages  old? 

“What  then,  the  miracle  of  Easter  day? 

What  meant  the  riven  tomb,  the  hidden  Might 
That  conquered  Death  and  rolled  the  stone  away 
And  brought  the  Master  back  to  mortal  sight? 

“  This,  that  throughout  the  worlds,  one  life  unbroken, 
Rushes  and  flames  in  an  eternal  vow. 

Death  cannot  be,  and  never  has  been  spoken, 

God  and  immortal  life  are  here  and  now ” 


II 

THE  FUNERAL  OF  GOD 


HOMAS  HARDY  has  a  poem 
entitled  ‘  ‘  The  Funeral  of  God,  ’  ’ 
which  contains  the  following 
stanzas.  There  are  many  to¬ 
day  to  whom  they  make  a 
strong,  convincing  appeal.  God 
to  them  has  ceased  to  be  a  living  reality.  He  has 
largely  faded  out  of  their  lives.  “He  can  no 
longer  be  kept  alive.’ ’ 

“  I  saw  a  slowly  stepping  train 
Fined  on  the  brows,  scoop-eyed  and  bent  and  hoar, 
Following  in  files  across  a  twilit  plain; 

A  strange  and  mystic  form  the  foremost'  bore. 

*£*  *2*  .  .t< 

•V* 

“O  man-projected  figure,  of  late 
Imaged  as  wTe,  thy  knell  who  shall  survive? 

Whence  came  it  we  were  tempted  to  create 
One  whom  we  can  no  longer  keep  alive? 

*  ifc  :Jc  #  # 

“  How  sweet  it  was  in  years  far  hied 
To  start  the  wheels  of  day  with  trustful  prayer! 

To  lie  down  liegely  at  the  eventide 
And  feel  a  blest  assurance  He  was  there.” 

We  have  not  forgotten  the  Frenchman  who  was 
ready  to  escort  Him  to  the  verge  of  the  cosmos, 
thank  Him  for  His  good  graces  and  politely  bow 
Him  out.  These  critics,  of  course,  do  not  believe 
in  the  future  life  any  more ;  they  do  not  confess 


Ube  jfuneral  of  (Bob 


\z 


to  a  belief  in  a  resurrection  of  any  kind.  When 
a  man  is  dead  he’s  dead — dead  as  the  mummy  of 
Rameses.  Celestial  matters  and  other-world 
hopes  do  not  interest  them  in  the  least.  It ’s  all 
apocryphal  stuff.  They  deny  any  spiritual  mean¬ 
ing  whatever  to  human  life.  They  are  the  ad¬ 
vanced  school,  the  rationalists,  the  modern 
thought  thinkers  of  our  day.  They  are  down¬ 
right  materialists  pure  and  simple. 

Certainly  the  world  is  having  its  own  share  of 
troubles  just  now.  Their  name  is  legion.  And 
the  causes  put  forward  are  legion  too;  some 
holding  that  the  root  of  all  our  troubles  is  the 
age-old  military  question.  That  never  seems  to 
down.  Others  that  the  labour  unrest  or  the 
financial  disturbance  or  the  unemployment  con¬ 
dition  or  monopoly  is  the  seat  of  the  disorder. 
Still  others,  that  our  plight  is  due  to  national 
jealousies  or  unwillingness  to  work  or  profiteer¬ 
ing  or  governmental  misrule,  or  some  even  to 
prohibition.  The  fact  being  that  everybody  has 
his  own  notion  and  nobody  seems  to  carry  any¬ 
thing  like  general  consent. 

There  is  a  little  company,  however,  who  are 
always  proclaiming  that  the  mischief  is  deeper 
down.  The  pus  is  not  on  the  surface  they  insist : 
it ’s  in  the  blood.  The  disorder  is  not  local ;  it  is 
organic.  The  disease  is  not  in  the  flesh :  it  is  in 
the  soul.  John  Wesley  says  there  are  times  when 
the  dentist  feels  that  the  trouble  is  not  in  the 


XTbe  jpuneral  of  (Bob 


19 


teeth  but  in  the  nerves.  This  little  group  keeps 
on  contending  that  our  ailments  are  indications 
not  of  any  toothache  or  backache  or  headache, 
but  of  a  deeper-seated  heartache.  G.  K.  Chester¬ 
ton  asks,  “What’s  wrong  with  the  world?”  And 
the  answer  he  gives  is  that  it  is  soulless.  There 
is  not  enough  soul  in  its  commerce,  in  its  politics, 
in  its  industry,  not  enough  even  in  its  religion. 
The  great  need  to-day,  he  urges,  is  not  a  renas¬ 
cence  of  the  intellect  but  a  renascence  of  the 
soul. 

“  How  sweet  it  was  in  years  far  hied 
To  start  the  wheels  of  day  with  trustful  prayer ! 

To  lie  down  liegely  at  the  eventide 
And  feel  a  blest  assurance  He  was  there.” 

Let  us  note  in  passing  one  or  two  of  the  most 
threatening  symptoms  of  our  time.  Can  there 
be  any  question  for  one  thing  that  we  have  fallen 
on  an  irreverent  age?  And  when  we  think 
about  it,  is  that  strange?  How  can  it  well  help 
being  irreverent  if  there  is  nothing  to  revere? 
We  certainly  cannot  revere  commodities  or  mer¬ 
chandise.  The  Greeks  called  man  anthropos,  the 
upward  looking  creature.  The  trouble  with  ma¬ 
terialism  is  it  never  looks  up.  But  then  why 
should  it  look  up  ?  There  is  nothing  to  look  up 
to.  So  the  materialist  looks  down  and  he  who 
looks  down  soon  goes  down.  One  cannot  look 
down  and  soar.  We  need  no  Holy  Writ  to  teach 
us  this.  If  any  one  doubts  it  let  him  read  his 


20 


XTbe  jfunerai  of  (3ob 


Adam  Bede.  Hetty  Sorrel  first  lost  her  rever¬ 
ence,  then  she  lost  her  self-respect,  and  soon  she 
lost  her  purity. 

Yes,  irreverence  is  flagrant  to-day.  Some 
claim  that  the  age  is  scientific;  some  say  it  is 
sceptical;  some  say  it  is  sordid;  some  say  it  is 
vulgar.  But  if  I  were  asked  to  describe  our  age 
in  a  word,  I  should  say  it  is  irreverent.  I  am 
rather  inclined  to  think  that  reverence  is  Amer¬ 
ica’s  lost  art.  There  is  nothing  sacred  any  more. 
There’s  no  Holy  Place  in  life,  certainly  no  Holy 
of  Holies.  We  are  losing  our  reverence  for  all  the 
quondam  holy  things.  We  are  losing  our  rever¬ 
ence  for  the  Bible,  for  the  Sabbath,  for  the 
Church,  for  the  laws  of  our  country,  for  human 
life,  for  the  tribunals  of  Justice,  for  the  sacred¬ 
ness  of  the  moral  law,  for  the  Ten  Command¬ 
ments,  for  the  things  unseen.  We  have  no  rever¬ 
ence  for  age.  The  father  is  the  old  man,  the 
mother  is  the  old  woman.  We  have  no  reverence 
for  wedlock.  The  marriage  altar  was  once  a 
shrine,  but  we  have  made  of  it  a  huge  auction 
block  on  which  we  sell  the  very  jewels  of  life. 
We  have  no  reverence  for  the  Sabbath  Day  or  the 
Church  of  God.  When  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
was  an  old  man,  he  wrote  to  a  friend  that  he  had 
just  returned  from  church,  and  then  he  added 
these  words,  ‘  ‘  There  is  a  little  plant  called  rever¬ 
ence  in  the  corner  of  my  soul’s  garden  and  I  like 
to  water  it  once  a  week.”  Dr.  Hale  once  said  to 


TLftc  ^funeral  ot  (Bob 


21 


Berry  of  Wolverhampton,  “I  wonder  if  there’s 
any  one  left  any  more  who  really  fears  God.  ’  ’ 

Then  is  not  the  age  superficial?  Are  not  men 
and  women  living  largely  on  the  surface  of 
things  ?  Have  we  not  more  faith  in  the  physical 
than  in  the  intellectual?  Is  not  our  reading 
mostly  light  and  trivial?  Think  of  a  book  like 
“Main  Street”  being  a  best  seller!  What  a 
commentary  on  our  intellectual  life !  Is  not  ma¬ 
terialism  the  great  central  sun  of  our  firmament  ? 
Is  not  our  one  great  passion  the  love  of  mam¬ 
mon?  Is  not  the  popular  attitude  something 
like  this :  Do  not  worry  about  the  future,  the  im¬ 
portant  thing  is  the  present.  The  important 
place  is  earth,  not  heaven.  Heaven  is  problem¬ 
atical,  earth  is  actual.  The  big  thing  is  to  suc¬ 
ceed;  the  big  thing  is  to  get  on.  Never  mind 
getting  up,  get  on.  The  important  thing  is  to 
crowd  into  the  flying  moments  all  the  thrills  you 
can.  Indeed,  there  are  revolutionaries  in  our 
midst  who  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  man  has 
been  marred  by  his  attention  to  spiritual  things. 
We  are  familiar  with  George  Frederick  Watts’ 
great  painting,  that  hideous  figure  with  a  crown 
of  gold  on  his  head  and  his  iron  foot  crushing  the 
youth  and  his  mailed  hand  squeezing  the  maiden 
who  is  on  his  knee.  Does  it  not  symbolize  the 
disposition  and  ideals  of  a  large  area  of  human 
society  to-day? 

This  is  unquestionably  a  grave  impeachment, 


22 


Ube  jfuneral  ot  <$ob 


but  does  anybody  question  its  truth?  We  are 
thinking  mark  of  the  spirit  of  a  good  deal  of  the 
thought  and  tone  of  our  time.  There  is  an  itch 
for  the  sensational.  Nothing  seems  to  appeal  to 
the  popular  mind  unless  it  is  spectacular  and 
exciting.  Twenty  years  ago  Mr.  Sheldon  wrote 
a  book  entitled  “In  His  Steps”  or  What  would 
Jesus  do?  It  was  a  very  popular  story:  it  had 
an  unusual  circulation.  Something  like  twenty 
million  copies  of  the  book  were  broadcasted. 
And  there  was  nothing  really  remarkable  about 
it.  It  was  simply  an  attempt  to  apply  the  teach¬ 
ings  of  Jesus  to  modern  life.  When  Mr.  Sheldon 
wrote  the  book  he  was  a  pastor  out  in  Kansas. 
He  is  now  the  editor  of  the  Christian  Herald  in 
New  York  City.  Some  months  ago  there  was  an 
article  from  his  pen  in  the  Atlantic  telling  the 
story  of  how  this  book  of  his  was  dramatized. 
The  movie  man  had  worked  it  over  into  a 
scenario.  But  lo  and  behold,  when  the  film  was 
ready  for  production  Mr.  Sheldon  noticed  that 
he  had  incorporated  into  it  the  League  of  Na¬ 
tions,  the  Battle  of  the  Somme,  the  San  Francisco 
earthquake,  a  bloody  fight  between  two  sub¬ 
marines,  some  colliding  airplanes  burning  up, 
etc.,  etc.  “But,”  said  Mr.  Sheldon  to  the  movie 
man,  “what  do  you  mean  by  this?  My  story 
was  written  five  and  twenty  years  ago.  There 
was  no  League  of  Nations  then.  There  was  no 
Battle  of  the  Somme  then.  There  were  no  such 


XTbe  ffunerai  of  (Bob 


23 


things  as  airplanes  then.”  “Ah,  my  friend,” 
was  the  reply,  ‘  ‘  I  had  to  bring  your  story  up  to 
date.”  “That’s  all  right,  but  my  book  is  dated. 
There  was  no  wireless  in  ’96,  no  radium,  no 
San  Francisco  earthquake,  no  Great  War.” 
“You  do  not  understand  the  film  business,  my 
friend.  In  order  to  get  your  story  on  to  Broad¬ 
way,  there  must  be  thrills,  there  must  be  action. 
What  better  action  than  a  battle?  There  must 
be  fire  and  blood,  sir.  It  must  go  over  the  top 
with  a  hip  and  a  whoop,  or  it  won’t  go  over 
at  all.” 

And  this  is  the  spirit  of  the  hour.  People  are 
clamouring  to  be  thrilled.  The  hair  must  stand 
on  end.  Something  must  be  going  on  all  the 
time.  There  must  be  excitement,  palpitation, 
passion,  blood  and  thunder.  A  money-making 
fist  fight  will  bring  90,000  people  together  in 
breathless  suspense.  I  notice  where  one  of  our 
great  monthly  magazines  gives  a  forecast  of  the 
articles  they  purpose  to  publish  this  coming  year, 
and  this  is  the  way  they  put  it :  “  Some  of  these 
articles  will  send  the  red  tide  spurting  through 
your  veins.”  Another  magazine  owner  has  di¬ 
rected  that  every  story  in  his  magazine  this  year 
is  going  to  have  a  red  hot  sex  appeal.  “My  paper 
demands  hot  stuff,  ’  ’  writes  another  reporter. 

One  of  our  modem  essayists  has  drawn  a  strik¬ 
ing  contrast  between  the  Mayflower  and  the 
Mauretania.  Three  hundred  years  ago  the  May - 


24 


XTbe  ffunerai  ot  Oob 


flower  landed  np  here  at  Plymouth.  She  was 
a  tiny  bit  of  a  boat  of  only  180  tons  and  hers 
was  a  memorable  nine  weeks7  voyage.  It  was 
memorable  in  many  ways.  For  one  thing,  the 
little  sailing  ship  was  a  temple  of  prayer.  The 
passengers  sang  psalms  and  hymns  and  spiritual 
songs  all  the  way  over,  from  shore  to  shore.  God 
Himself  was  one  of  the  passengers  on  that  his¬ 
toric  craft.  Three  hundred  years  later  another 
boat  made  her  maiden  voyage.  She  was  a  great 
liner.  She  was  huge ;  she  was  palatial.  She  was 
christened  the  Mauretania.  The  Mayflower 
would  go  into  her  smoking  room.  The  first  cabin 
was  filled  with  gamblers  and  drunkards.  A 
great  London  daily  in  describing  the  trip  used 
these  words,  “The  smoking  room  wTas  a  bedlam. 
Match  stands,  spittoons,  glasses  and  bottles  were 
flying  in  all  directions.  On  arrival  at  New  York 
she  was  met  by  detectives  and  a  dozen  passengers 
were  escorted  to  the  police  court.77  Dean  Inge 
reminds  us  how  apt  we  are  to  think  that  people 
who  travel  thirty  miles  an  hour  are  ten  times  as 
civilized  as  people  who  travel  only  ten.  But, 
alas,  not  infrequently  the  truth  is  the  other  way. 
Speed  is  not  always  progress.  Sometimes,  as 
with  the  falling  airplane,  it  is  decline,  disastrous 
decline. 

Once  more ;  who  will  question  that  our  age  has 
about  it  a  spirit  of  unrest  ?  Is  there  any  one  who 
is  not  conscious  of  the  fact  that  society  is  per- 


Zhc  jfuneral  of  <$o£> 


25 


vaded  as  perhaps  never  before  by  forces  of  un¬ 
rest?  Even  in  the  awful  days  of  the  war  there 
was  nothing  like  the  social  unrest  we  see  around 
us  to-day.  We  see  glimpses  of  it  in  the  divorce 
courts.  We  see  it  in  the  craving  for  luxury,  in  the 
industrial  discontent.  We  see  it  in  the  easy  way 
that  people  sell  their  homes.  We  see  it  in  the 
tendency  to  wander  about.  People  don’t  want  to 
stay  at  home  any  more.  They  prefer  to  be  any¬ 
where  but  home.  Home  has  lost  its  sweet  allur- 
ment.  We  see  it  in  the  drift  from  old  moorings. 
Things  that  we  thought  once  were  stable  as  the 
hills  are  tottering  and  crumbling.  We  see  it  in 
the  worry  and  the  fret  and  the  fever  of  the 
times.  The  normal  temperature  of  the  body  is 
98  or  thereabout.  That  indicates  health  and 
good  circulation  and  proper  functioning,  but 
when  the  thermometer  runs  up  into  three  figures, 
that  shows  congestion  and  disturbance  and  dis¬ 
ease.  And  these  things  are  equally  true  in  the 
social  fabric.  The  heat  and  fever  of  our  time 
are  a  symptom  of  disease.  We  seem  to  be  stand¬ 
ing  by  the  bedside  of  a  sick  patient  who  is  suf¬ 
fering  from  nervous  exhaustion.  The  whole 
body  seems  to  be  filled  with  fear  and  anxiety 
and  temperature  and  unrest.  Everybody  seems 
to  be  breaking  his  neck  to  get  more,  to  increase 
wages,  to  reduce  work.  Every  one  is  grabbing 
for  the  physical  things.  Some  one  says  we  are 
like  passengers  on  a  channel  steamer,  every  one 


26 


Zhc  jfuneral  ot  <Sot> 


scrambling  to  get  the  best  seat  for  a  rough  cross¬ 
ing.  There  is  not  a  night  of  the  year  when 
you  cannot  find  in  this  great  throbbing  city  tens 
of  thousands  sitting  around  the  boards,  and  try¬ 
ing  by  some  tickling  sensation  to  get  the  thrill 
of  what  they  call  life.  What  does  it  all  mean? 
It  is  the  denial  of  the  spiritual  element  in  human 
life.  It  is  the  funeral  of  God. 

And  there  are  many  thoughtful  thinkers  to¬ 
day  who  are  beginning  to  feel  that  the  only  cure 
for  our  enfeebled  condition  is  in  getting  back  to 
the  old  landmarks.  We  must  learn  to  reveal  and 
glorify  the  divine.  God  is  not  dead  even  if 
Mr.  Hardy  thinks  He  is.  That  surely  was  a 
striking  saying  of  Voltaire’s,  “If  there  were  no 
God  the  world  would  need  to  invent  one.”  We 
must  change  our  standards.  The  old  idea  of 
testing  success  by  material  reckonings  is  doomed ; 
it  is  a  glaring  swindle.  We  must  find  some 
spiritual  theodolites.  A  great  American  jurist 
said  not  long  ago,  “America  must  get  back  to 
God  or  she  will  go  to  the  devil  in  fifty  years.” 
Really  will  it  take  fifty  ? 

There  is  nothing  that  is  going  to  rescue  our 
poor  world  from  its  present  pitiable  condition  but 
a  spiritual  faith.  The  only  hope  is  a  spiritual 
hope.  Force  cannot  do  it.  “Painting  the  map 
of  the  world  red  cannot  do  it.  Nothing  will  do 
it  but  washing  the  soul  of  the  world  white.” 
Anybody  who  is  not  drunk  with  the  wine  and 


Ube  ffuneral  of  6ob 


27 


the  whisky  of  worldliness,  any  one  with  sober 
brains,  any  one  who  can  see  clear  and 
straight,  must  confess  that  “materialism  has 
made  a  mess  of  managing  this  world.’ ’  If  we 
cannot  mend  our  ways,  certain  ruin  is  ahead. 
Our  civilization  that  we  are  always  boasting 
about  will  go  the  way  of  all  the  rest.  Theodore 
Roosevelt  once  asked  the  question,  *  ‘  Is  our  civili¬ 
zation  going  to  endure  ?  ’  ’  The  question  is  not  as 
simple  or  indisputable  as  it  seems.  Egypt  is 
gone.  Assyria  is  gone.  Persia  is  gone.  Baby¬ 
lon  is  gone.  Greece  is  gone.  Where  is  haughty 
Spain?  Where  is  the  great  Moorish  Empire 
with  its  architecture  and  its  art?  Where  is 
mighty,  military  Rome?  God  raised  these  great 
nations  up  and  then  He  cast  them  down  because 
they  failed  to  do  His  will.  So  let  us  take  warn¬ 
ing.  We  must  away  from  the  rabble  of  the 
crowd.  The  glory  of  life  is  not  in  its  garments, 
or  its  mansions,  or  its  trophies,  or  its  crowns. 
Public  honours  will  die  away  like  the  roar  of 
the  mob.  It’s  all  a  bit  of  empty  pageantry. 
What  the  world  calls  success  is  a  good  deal  like 
that  beautiful  mausoleum  that  a  certain  million¬ 
aire  built  for  himself  and  which  now  awaits  his 
body  lost  at  sea.  Let  us  look  behind  the  noisy 
show  and  see  the  real  solid  facts.  The  very 
soul  of  true  religion  is  belief  in  an  invisible 
order.  The  glory  of  life  is  in  the  spiritual. 
The  glory  of  life  is  in  the  bosom  of  God. 


% 


m 

TEN  TIMES  ONE  ARE  ELEVEN 

HE  thought  that  suggests  itself 
is,  Where  does  our  real  strength 
come  from?  Wherein  consists, 
for  instance,  the  strength  of  a 
nation  or  an  army  or  an  in¬ 
dustrial  concern  or  a  govern¬ 
ment  or  an  institution  of  any  kind?  Yes,  or  an 
individual?  Wherein  lies  the  secret  of  any  in- 
dividual ’s  power?  Does  it  lie  in  himself  or  does 
it  lie  in  something  outside  of  himself? 

It  is  an  interesting  question  because  the  cry 
of  the  age  is  for  Power.  As  never  before,  men 
are  coveting  power.  We  are  hearing  of  water 
power  and  steam  power  and  electric  power, 
actinic  power,  X-ray  power.  Men  talk  of  in¬ 
tellectual  power,  pulpit  power,  magnetic  power, 
spiritual  power.  Some  of  our  scientists  are  busy 
discussing  where  our  heat  is  going  to  come  from 
when  the  forests  are  all  felled  and  the  coal  is  all 
mined  and  the  oil  peters  out.  Some  of  them  are 
working  on  inventions  to  tap  the  earth’s  central 
caloric.  Others  are  trying  to  perfect  a  battery 
device  of  some  kind  or  other  to  store  up  the 
sun’s  tremendous  energy.  It  is  all  a  quest  for 
power. 


28 


Uen  Unites  <®nc  Bre  Bleven  29 


The  most  popular  word  in  our  language  to-day 
is  that  word  power.  Whatever  expresses  power 
is  good.  The  successful  man  is  the  man  who 
wields  power.  Men  are  striving  for  wealth  be¬ 
cause  wealth  denotes  power.  The  one  supreme 
failure  to-day  seems  to  be  lack  of  power.  Weak¬ 
ness  in  some  places  is  almost  synonymous  with 
wickedness. 

And  one  of  the  significant  studies  in  the  history 
of  the  race  is  the  different  conceptions  of  power 
that  have  been  held  and  that  are  still  held. 
When  we  ask  the  question,  What  is  the  ruling 
fact  or  force  in  people’s  lives,  we  are  met  with 
many  answers  to  that  inquiry.  Some  are  telling 
us  Truth  is,  some  Beauty,  some  Character.  Love 
and  hatred  and  lust  and  pride  and  fashion  are 
all  advanced,  and  perhaps  a  greater  company 
than  any  are  arguing  for  money.  See,  they  say, 
what  money  can  do.  Money  is  the  one  great 
moving  potential  to-day.  Nothing  has  the  ghost 
of  a  chance  to-day  that  hasn’t  money  behind  it. 
Money  controls  the  markets  of  the  world.  It 
dictates  war  and  peace.  Money  can  shake  every 
parliament  on  earth  with  “one  whisper  of  its 
golden  lips.” 

Twenty-five  years  ago  Mr.  Gladstone  said  that 
no  individual  ought  to  be  permitted  to  own  a 
hundred  million  dollars,  that  it  was  too  much 
power  to  be  in  the  hands  of  any  one  man.  To¬ 
day  there  arc  several  Americans  who  are  reputed 


30  Ucn  TTimes  ©ne  Ere  JEleven 


to  be  worth  that  sum.  And  Sir  Oliver  Lodge 
recently  lecturing  to  his  class  and  holding  in  his 
hand  a  lump  of  common  clay,  said : 4  4  Gentlemen, 
we  are  beginning  to  appreciate  the  marvellous 
power  of  atomic  chemistry  as  seen  in  the  be¬ 
haviour  of  radium.  Maybe  there  is  enough 
energy  in  this  handful  of  clay  to  lift  the  British 
fleet  from  the  North  Sea  and  transport  it  to  the 
hills  behind  Manchester.  But,”  he  continued, 
“I  hope  this  power  will  not  be  discovered  until 
we  are  fit  to  use  it.” 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  is  one  of  the 
great  problems  just  now  before  the  world — the 
control  of  Power.  There  is  no  danger  so  great 
as  power  in  the  possession  of  people  who  do  not 
know  how  to  use  it.  It  is  like  putting  rifles  in 
the  hands  of  children.  We  are  witnessing  this 
evil  on  every  side.  Take  for  instance,  the  mat¬ 
ter  of  physical  weapons.  In  many  quarters,  the 
old  faith  in  the  physical  still  persists.  That  is 
the  hardest  thing  to  down.  The  world  has  al¬ 
ways  had  such  a  simple,  childlike  trust  in  that. 
Maeterlinck  has  an  essay  in  one  of  his  books 
along  this  line.  He  calls  his  essay  4 4  In  praise  of 
the  fist.”  The  bull,  he  says,  has  horns,  the  eagle 
has  talons,  the  crab  has  claws,  the  dog  has  teeth, 
and  as  for  man  he  has  a  fist.  These  all  have 
been  given  for  protection,  for  justice,  for  re¬ 
venge.  And  so  he  goes  on  to  marshal  his  argu¬ 
ments  in  praise  of  the  fist.  It  is  the  old  story  of 


Ucn  Climes  One  Hre  Bleven  z\ 


brute  force  and  brawn  and  muscle.  We  all 
recognize  it  immediately. 

As  long  as  I  can  remember,  we  have  been  told 
that  self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature, 
that  nature  knows  no  law  but  the  law  of  selfish¬ 
ness,  that  she  is  “red  in  tooth  and  claw,”  that 
only  the  fit  survive — the  fit  being  the  strong. 
The  savage  of  the  jungle  used  his  club.  That’s 
how  he  managed  to  win  respect.  And  in  the  in¬ 
dustrial  jungle  to-day,  if  a  man  would  come  out 
on  top,  he  must  swing  the  big  stick  too. 

But  the  convincing  reply  to  all  this  loud  talk 
is  that  it  is  not  true.  The  mighty  mammoth 
creatures  that  were  armed  and  that  once  ruled 
the  jungle,  where  are  they?  Where  are  the 
giant  mastodons,  with  tusks  twenty  feet  long, 
that  once  roamed  across  the  fields  of  Siberia? 
Why,  they  are  extinct.  If  it  were  not  for  some 
deposit,  or  some  bones  in  the  Triassic  rocks,  we 
would  not  know  that  such  creatures  ever  existed. 
Dean  Inge  in  his  “Outspoken  Essays”  says: 
“Science  has  condemned  to  extinction  the  ma¬ 
jestic  animals  of  the  Saurian  era  and  has  care¬ 
fully  preserved  the  bug,  the  louse  and  the  bac¬ 
teria.  ’ 9  The  pigmies  are  with  us,  the  giants  have 
gone. 

Where  are  all  the  monster  marine  reptiles — 
the  dinosaur  for  instance?  These  ponderous, 
ungainly  monsters  were  armoured  like  a  dread¬ 
nought.  Surely  they  managed  to  survive.  But 


32  Ucn  TEtmes-  ©ne  Ere  ^Eleven 


no!  They  seem  to  have  been  crushed  by  their 
very  armour.  It  is  the  feeble  members  of  the 
brute  world,  the  ones  that  know  no  armour  (the 
horse,  the  cow,  the  dog,  the  sheep,  the  goat), 
that  have  survived.  These  are  the  creatures  that 
have  weathered  the  storm.  The  strong  have 
vanished,  the  weak  are  left  to  tell  the  tale. 

A  few  years  ago — as  late  indeed  as  1911 — Mr. 
Charles  Dawson,  the  geologist,  was  telling  us  of 
cutting  through  a  gravel  bed  in  the  south  of 
England.  He  was  making  a  scientific  observa¬ 
tion  of  the  different  strata  of  the  soil.  It  was  at 
a  place  called  Pittsdown,  not  far  from  Brighton. 
When  he  got  down  ten  or  twelve  feet  he  came 
across  the  fossil  remains  of  a  woolly  elephant. 
He  was  astonished  to  find  there  in  quiet  Sussex, 
where  the  wildest  animal  to-day  is  the  partridge, 
the  bones  of  this  extinct  hairy  mammoth. 

And  this  is  not  all.  This  victory  of  weakness 
is  not  confined  to  the  brute  world.  Everywhere 
the  gladiatorial  idea  is  passing.  We  are  gradually 
rescuing  the  heroic  from  the  smell  of  smoke  and 
blood.  Some  of  the  weakest  creatures  are  the 
most  tenacious.  Mr.  Maeterlinck  in  this  same 
essay  cites  the  ease  of  the  ant.  “  You  can  pile  on 
top  of  an  ant,  ’  ’  he  says,  ‘  ‘  twenty  thousand  times 
its  own  weight  and  it  will  still  survive.’ ’  The 
resistance  of  the  beetle  is  almost  incredible.  He 
seems  well-nigh  armour  proof. 

But  these  are  the  facts.  Never  were  the  bully 


Hen  Himes  ©ne  Bre  Eleven  33 


and  the  burglar  and  the  freebooter  so  much  in 
disfavour,  never  had  they  such  little  assurance 
of  success  as  to-day.  Even  in  the  vegetable  king¬ 
dom  it  is  not  the  militant  thistle  but  the  meek 
and  modest  herbaceous  plants,  like  the  pansy  and 
the  violet,  that  seem  destined  to  inherit  the  earth. 

And  turning  to  the  kingdom  of  the  personal. 
What  shall  we  say  of  that  great  army  of  the  deli¬ 
cate,  men  like  Watt  and  Kant  and  Wilber  force 
and  Robert  Hall,  women  like  Florence  Nightin¬ 
gale  and  Mrs.  Browning.  Wordsworth  says  of 
Watt:  “He  was  perhaps  the  most  extraordinary 
man  that  the  country  has  ever  produced. ?  9  But 
think  what  a  body  he  had,  hardly  any  body  at 
all,  and  what  little  there  was  seemed  to  be  dis¬ 
eased.  Robert  Murray  McCheyne  was  nick¬ 
named  the  Skeleton,  but  this  skeleton  managed, 
notwithstanding,  to  shake  Scotland  from  Caith¬ 
ness  to  the  Tweed.  Wilberforce,  the  liberator, 
the  statesman,  the  orator,  we  know.  But  how 
little  we  know  of  Wilberforce  the  hunchback,  the 
man  who  for  twenty  years  was  compelled  to  take 
opium  to  keep  himself  alive.  When  he  arose  to 
address  the  House  of  Commons,  one  reporter 
wrote:  “He  looked  like  a  dwarf  that  had  jumped 
out  of  a  fairy  tale.”  There  is  a  great  company 
of  these  heroes  and  heroines.  Their  strength  was 
certainly  not  in  their  muscles  or  their  fists. 

Or  approaching  the  matter  from  another  angle. 
There  is  a  type  of  men  who  call  themselves  prac- 


34  Uen  Uimes  ©ne  ate  Bleve" 


tical  men  and  who  are  peculiarly  strong  on  sta¬ 
tistics.  They  are  always  taking  a  census.  They 
like  to  go  with  the  crowd.  They  glory  in  majori¬ 
ties.  Perhaps  there  never  was  a  time  when  peo¬ 
ple  had  such  an  unbounded  confidence  in  con¬ 
ventions  and  mass  movements  as  to-day. 
Matthew  Arnold  used  to  say  that  our  most  sacred 
book  is  the  book  of  Numbers.  With  many, 
figures  are  a  perfect  fetish.  One  of  our  popular 
expressions  is,  to  keep  up  with  the  procession. 
The  old  prophet  speaks  of  the  man  with  the 
measuring  line.  The  man  with  the  measur¬ 
ing  line  is  always  with  us.  He  is  an  important 
man  in  the  commercial  world;  he  is  an  in¬ 
fluential  man  in  the  political  world,  and 
often — too  often  indeed — he  cuts  quite  a  swath 
in  the  religious  world.  He  measures  success 
by  numerals,  by  majorities,  by  pluralities. 
Ten  times  one  are  ten  he  is  always  telling 
us.  But  sometimes  ten  times  one  are  more 
than  ten.  Ten  men  working  together  will  do 
more  than  ten  men  working  separately.  Ten 
times  one  are  ten  plus  their  concerted  action.  It 
is  the  psychology  of  crowds.  We  know  that  peo¬ 
ple  in  a  crowd  are  capable  of  rising  to  higher 
heights  or  sinking  to  lower  depths  than  any  of 
them  would  individually.  There  is  always  this 
unseen  factor  to  reckon  with,  and  when  the  un¬ 
seen  factor  is  a  spiritual  one,  it  makes  a  formi¬ 
dable  difference. 


Zen  Zi mes  0ne  Hte  £le\>en  35 


I  think  we  need  to  be  reminded  these  days 
that  the  great  truths  that  have  moved  mankind 
have  not  owed  their  triumphs  to  any  numerical 
preponderance.  Victory  has  not  always  been  on 
the  side  of  the  biggest  battalions,  Napoleon  not¬ 
withstanding.  There  is  no  literature  in  the 
world  that  pays  so  little  regard  to  majorities  as 
the  Bible.  There  was  a  time  when  the  whole 
world  believed  that  the  earth  was  flat.  That  did 
not  save  the  delusion.  Perhaps  the  history  of 
the  Hebrew  people  is  the  strongest  proof  we 
have  of  the  impotence  of  mere  numbers.  They 
were  surrounded  by  great  races  that  far  out¬ 
voted  them.  Indeed,  they  were  only  as  it  were 
a  drop  in  the  bucket.  But  where  are  these  races 
to-day?  Where  is  Egypt?  Egypt  had  a  popu¬ 
lation  ten  times  as  great  as  Palestine.  Egypt 
tried  to  destroy  Palestine ;  so  did  Assyria. 
Where  is  Persia?  Persia  had  a  population 
twenty  times  as  great  as  Palestine.  But  Egypt, 
Assyria,  Babylon,  Persia,  Greece  and  Rome  rose 
and  fell,  came  and  went.  And  yet  this  little 
company  of  Jews,  small  and  obscure,  trampled 
on  in  the  march,  of  history,  still  remains  and 
they  are  mightier  to-day  than  ever. 

A  good  many  of  us,  unfortunately,  are  almost 
uncomfortable  to-day  if  we  find  ourselves  in  the 
minority.  But  when  we  come  to  think  of  it,  that 
is  not  the  smallest  reason  for  being  discouraged. 
It  is  minorities  as  a  rule  that  have  saved  the 


3 6  Uen  XTtmes  One  Hte  Bleven 


world.  Time  and  time  again  truth  has  been  on 
the  side  where  the  few  were  lined  up.  It  is  the 
few  that  have  always  kept  the  world  sweet. 
Wilber  force  was  in  the  minority  on  the  question 
of  slavery.  Telemachus  was  in  the  minority  on 
the  question  of  gladiatorial  displays.  I  rather 
think,  with  the  gloomy  Dean  of  St.  Paul's, 
‘‘there  is  not  the  slightest  probability  that  the 
big  crowd  will  ever  be  found  in  front  of  the 
narrow  gate."  I  feel  confident  they  will  con¬ 
tinue  to  be  found  at  the  movies  or  the  ball  game. 
I  am  reminded  of  the  statesman  who,  when  his 
speech  was  applauded  by  the  mob,  turned  to  the 
chairman  and  whispered,  ‘  ‘  Have  I  said  anything 
very  foolish?"  And  anyway,  we  have  high 
authority  for  the  words,  “Strait  is  the  gate  and 
narrow  is  the  way  that  leadeth  unto  life  and  few 
there  be  that  find  it.  ’ 9 

There  is  still  another  point  of  view  that  is 
popular.  So  many  seem  to  think  that  a  move¬ 
ment  has  no  chance  these  days  unless  it  has  in¬ 
fluence  and  prestige  behind  it.  And  so  their 
first  idea  when  they  are  beginning  any  new  ven¬ 
ture  is  to  get  a  list  of  influential  names  to  en¬ 
dorse  their  program.  They  seek  as  patrons  and 
patronesses  the  great  and  the  notable.  They  be¬ 
siege  the  seats  of  the  mighty.  It  is  a  singular 
fact  that  Jesus  had  no  great  or  commanding 
name  in  His  cabinet.  One  wonders  sometimes 
why  He  did  not  summon  to  His  side  such  a  man 


Zen  ZUnes  ©ne  Eve  Eleven  37 


as  Nicodemus  for  instance.  But  not  so;  His 
followers  were  mostly  humble  folk.  His  disciples 
were  nearly  all  peasants.  Jesus  never  relied  on 
what  the  world  calls  greatness.  It  was  the  weak 
things  He  picked  out  to  do  His  work. 

All  of  which  leads  us  to  our  challenge  that 
ten  times  one  are  not  always  ten.  Sometimes 
ten  times  one  are  eleven,  sometimes  twelve. 
Sometimes  one  and  one  are  more  than  two.  It 
all  depends  on  who  or  what  the  ones  are.  Man’s 
real  strength  is  never  in  himself.  His  strength 
comes  from  a  higher  alliance.  It  comes  from 
being  harnessed  to  the  Unseen.  All  mathematical 
equations  are  reduced  to  absurdity  here.  It  was 
Lincoln  who  said,  was  it  not,  ‘  ‘  Find  out  the  way 
that  God  is  going  and  go  that  way.”  It  is  al¬ 
ways  God  and  Newton,  God  and  Faraday,  God 
and  Agassiz.  It  is  not  the  sword  of  Gideon,  it 
is  4 ‘the  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of  Gideon.”  As 
Amiel  in  his  journal  puts  it:  “Strong  as  the  uni¬ 
verse  or  feeble  as  the  worm,  according  as  we  rep¬ 
resent  God  or  only  ourselves;  as  we  lean  upon 
the  Infinite  or  stand  alone.  ’  ’ 

Fifty  years  ago  a  great  German  philosopher 
by  the  name  of  Lotze  proved  to  us  that  all  real 
power  in  the  world  is  spiritual  power.  And  no 
thinker  to-day  disputes  that  fact.  The  great 
storage  plant  is  a  spiritual  one  and  Faith  is  the 
key  that  turns  the  switch.  We  speak  of  the 
strength  of  Gibraltar.  What  makes  Gibraltar 


38  Zen  Zimes  ©ne  Bre  Eleven 


strong?  Is  it  the  rock?  There  is  no  more 
strength  in  Gibraltar’s  rock  than  in  any  other 
mammoth  rock.  The  strength  of  Gibraltar,  said 
a  great  statesman  recently,  is  in  the  Empire  that 
owns  it  and  governs  it.  The  strength  of  Gi¬ 
braltar  is  in  the  English  Crown,  and  the  strength 
of  the  Christian  is  in  his  God.  The  Good  Book 
says,  4 ‘Be  strong,’ ’  but  it  adds,  “Be  strong  in 
the  Lord.” 

We  are  frequently  reminded  that  the  word 
Faith  is  not  once  found  in  the  Old  Testament. 
There  is  but  one  exception  and  that  is  in  the 
book  of  Deuteronomy,  and  the  word  as  it  is 
found  in  that  passage  does  not  mean  what  we 
mean  by  it.  Well,  that  is  one  of  those  statements, 
that  is  true  literally  and  false  every  other  way. 
For  when  we  come  to  the  letter  to  the  Hebrews 
we  read:  “By  faith  Abel,  by  faith  Enoch,  by 
faith  Noah,  by  faith  Abraham,  by  faith  Moses, 
by  faith  Gideon,  by  faith  Samson,  by  faith 
David.”  It  seems  to  be  all  faith.  There  doesn’t 
appear  to  be  anything  else  but  faith.  Every¬ 
thing  these  grand  old  worthies  did,  they  seem 
to  have  done  through  faith. 

The  founders  of  our  American  Republic  were 
men  of  faith.  Every  great  chapter  in  our  history 
is  a  chapter  of  faith.  True  our  historians  do 
not  always  see  it  that  way,  but  if  some  Jewish 
Rabbi  were  writing  our  history,  would  it  not  be 
something  like  this : 


Uax  XTintes  One  Hre  Eleven  39 


By  faith  Columbus  began  the  great  adventure 
in  1492. 

By  faith  a  little  shell  of  a  boat  of  180  tons 
called  the  Mayflower  ventured  out  on  the  stormy 
Atlantic  and  landed  at  Cape  Cod  in  November, 
1620.  She  had  eighty  souls  on  board.  They 
founded  a  nation,  the  greatest  nation  that  ever 
breathed  the  air  of  liberty.  It  was  all  a  great 
gamble  of  faith. 

By  faith  Washington  issued  his  farewell  ad¬ 
dress  to  the  people  in  1796. 

By  faith  Jefferson  drafted  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  the  same  year. 

By  faith  Lincoln  issued  his  call  for  75,000 
volunteers  on  April  15th,  1861. 

By  faith  Marcus  Whitman  started  West  with 
three  other  missionaries  in  1836  and  saved  Ore¬ 
gon  to  the  Union — he  and  his  wife  having  been 
murdered  eleven  years  later  by  the  Indians. 

By  faith  Cyrus  W.  Field  organized  the  At¬ 
lantic  Telegraph  in  1856  and  succeeded,  after 
two  failures,  in  laying  a  cable  between  Ireland 
and  Newfoundland. 

And  so  on.  A  Hebrew  historian  would  have  seen 
God  in  everything.  Every  chapter  would  have 
been  a  psalm  of  faith.  Because  Faith  is  the 
bond  that  links  man  to  God  and  enables  God  to 
work  through  him.  4  4  This  is  the  victory  that 
overcometh  the  world  even  your  faith.” 

The  trouble  with  most  of  us  in  our  religious 
work  is  that  we  do  not  avail  ourselves  of  the 
power  at  our  disposal.  We  pray  for  the  out¬ 
pouring  of  a  blessing,  when  what  is  needed  is 


40  Uen  TTintes  ©ne  Ere  Bieven 


not  an  outpouring  so  much  as  an  in-letting.  The 
windows  are  open.  It  is  our  hearts  that  are 
shut.  The  power  is  at  our  doors  clamouring  for 
admission.  As  some  one  puts  it,  “The  block  on 
the  line  is  just  outside  our  own  hearts.”  There 
is  no  obstacle  in  the  perpendicular.  The  ob¬ 
stacle  is  in  the  horizontal.  So  many  Christians 
are  wrestling  with  God  to  come  into  their  lives 
and  give  them  power,  when  what  they  need  is  to 
swing  wide  the  doors  and  receive  the  power. 
What  use  is  the  wind  to  push  our  little  craft  un¬ 
less  we  lift  a  sail  to  catch  it?  Of  what  use  is 
the  eternal  fact  of  gravity  unless  we  remove  the 
barriers?  We  must  comply  with  the  conditions. 
We  must  enter  into  partnership  with  the  eternal 
forces.  We  must  cooperate.  Why  is  it  that  on 
a  hot  day  in  summer  the  higher  we  ascend  in  an 
airplane  the  colder  we  get?  We  are  nearing  the 
great  source  of  heat  and  yet  the  heat  is  all  the 
time  getting  less.  It  is  because  heat,  like  every¬ 
thing  else,  needs  an  atmosphere.  And  the  human 
element  is  just  as  essential  as  the  divine.  We 
are  the  atmosphere.  All  power  is  from  above, 
but  we  must  receive  the  power  and  transmit  it 
and  diffuse  it.  The'  power  is  all  His.  We  are 
nothing  at  all  except  in  so  far  as  we  are  used. 
No  man  has  ever  done  a  great  work  for  God 
until  he  was  first  humbled  by  the  conviction  that 
of  himself  he  could  do  nothing.  “We  have  to 
empty  the  organ  pipes  of  our  own  poor  breaths 


Uen  Utmes  One  Hre  j£le\>en  4t 


and  get  them  filled  with  the  winds  of  heaven  be¬ 
fore  they  will  ponr  forth  music. 5  ’  All  the  great 
prophets  and  apostles  and  preachers  were  great 
and  mighty  because  they  felt  themselves  un¬ 
worthy  and  impotent.  It  was  their  humility  that 
raised  them  up.  They  let  God  do  with  them  as 
He  pleased  and  He  pleased  to  make  them  giants. 

You  will  recall  the  story  of  Charles  Kingsley’s 
“ Yeast/’  how  Nevgara,  the  base  criminal,  ran 
into  the  woods  in  his  desperation,  and  there, 
lonely,  abandoned,  heart-sick,  conscience-smit¬ 
ten,  hell-tortured,  face  to  face  with  his  foulness 
and  his  sin,  threw  himself  down  on  his  knees 
among  the  leaves  and  cried  out:  “0  God,  if  you 
can  make  anything  of  a  villain  like  me,  I  will 
be  Thine.”  And  then,  it  will  be  remembered, 
how  a  strange  light  celestial  came  into  his  heart, 
and  when  he  opened  his  eyes  how  the  bushes 
about  him  burst  into  flame  and  colour,  and  he 
rose  up  a  new  man.  * ‘  Blessed  is  the  man  whose 
strength  is  in  God.”  And  the  nation  too! 
What  is  the  trouble  with  our  land  to-day?  Is 
not  our  great  trouble  that  we  are  forgetting 
God?  Sometimes  it  looks  very  much  as  if  our 
Republic  was  losing  its  soul.  America  is  worth 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  billion  dollars,  but 
what  good  is  that  going  to  be  to  her  if  she  loses 
her  soul  1  America  must  get  back  to  God.  Cer¬ 
tainly  she  must  if  she  is  going  to  save  her  soul. 


IV 

MILLIONAIRES 


HE  New  Testament  seems  at 
first  sight  to  be  rough  on  rich 
men.  But  the  question  always 
arises,  who  is  the  rich  man? 
How  much  wealth  must  one 
command  to  be  labelled  rich? 
There  was  a  time  when  a  person  who  could  sign 
his  check  for  $100,000  was  accounted  rich,  but 
he  would  not  be  so  regarded  to-day.  In  these 
days  of  astronomical  figures  six  digits  do  not 
make  a  rich  man.  One  needs  at  least  seven,  pos¬ 
sibly  eight,  maybe  nine.  It  all  depends  on  who 
the  assessor  is.  And  if  the  assessor  is  Jesus  we 
have  no  means  of  reckoning  just  where  the 
boundary  lies  or  when  one  crosses  over.  He  laid 
down  no  lines,  no  limits.  He  once  said  that  it 
was  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of 
a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into  His 
Kingdom,  and  the  saying  has  puzzled  and  trou¬ 
bled  many,  although  I  think  unnecessarily.  Be¬ 
cause  what  He  really  said  was  not  how  hardly 
shall  they  that  have  riches  but  “how  hardly  shall 
they  that  trust  in  their  riches.”  It  is  impossible 
for  a  man  to  enter  His  Kingdom  who  trusts  in 

42 


/BMlifonaires 


43 


his  riches.  His  Kingdom  is  not  entered  that  way. 
That  ticket  is  no  good,  that  key  does  not  fit. 
It  is  quite  as  impossible  for  a  camel  to  go  through 
a  needle’s  eye  as  for  a  rich  man  who  trusts  in 
his  riches  to  enter  the  Kingdom  of  the  Spirit. 

The  Master,  let  us  make  clear  at  the  outset, 
never  condemns  money  as  such  and  He  puts  no 
limit  on  its  legitimate  accumulation.  On  these 
points  He  was  silent.  He  had  nothing  to  say. 
He  was  not  a  professor  of  economics;  He  was  a 
teacher  of  religion.  Wealth  to  Him  was  not  a 
question  of  quantity;  it  was  a  touchstone  of 
character,  and  that  purpose  can  be  served  as 
well  oftentimes  by  a  small  balance  as  by  a  great 
fabulous  return.  “Where  one’s  treasure  is  there 
will  his  heart  be,  ’  ’  be  the  treasure  little  or  be  it 
large.  What  Jesus  condemns  is  mammon.  All 
the  gold  in  Wall  Street  is  helpless  to  harm  if  it 
is  kept  in  the  right  place,  but  two  five-cent  bits  of 
nickel  will  blind  the  man  who  places  them  over 
his  optics.  Some  one  has  remarked  of  dirt  that 
it  is  clay  and  earth  in  the  wrong  place.  When 
dirt  is  in  the  garden  it  is  a  most  desirable  thing : 
it  gives  us  vegetables,  berries,  fruits,  flowers. 
But  in  the  kitchen  it  is  extremely  objectionable 
stuff;  it  is  a  spring  of  infection  and  disease. 
Mammon  is  money  in  the  wrong  place.  Money 
is  a  good  thing  in  the  hand;  it  is  a  pitiably  poor 
thing  in  the  heart.  When  money  gets  into  the 
heart  it  is  no  longer  money ;  it  becomes  mammon. 


44 


fMMUionaires 


What  we  are  apt  to  lose  sight  of,  however,  is 
that  there  are  many  kinds  of  riches.  Material 
wealth  is  not  the  only  wealth.  Money  magnates 
are  not  the  only  favourites  of  fortune.  Do  we 
not  know  those  who  are  millionaires  intellectually 
for  instance,  men  of  vision  and  power  and  genius. 
Some  of  them  have  discovered  great  cosmic  laws, 
some  have  formulated  great  codes,  some  have 
written  standard  works.  They  are  poets,  artists, 
philosophers,  inventors,  teachers,  statesmen. 
Some  are  constructive  leaders  in  the  affairs  of 
government  to-day ;  some  are  working  away 
quietly  in  their  laboratories.  I  am  thinking  of 
a  great  scientist  like  Mr.  Edison  or  a  great 
philosopher  like  Bertrand  Russell,  or  a  great 
writer  like  Mr.  Wells  or  a  great  naturalist  like 
the  late  John  Burroughs.  How  brainy  these 
men,  and  yet  is  it  not  true  that  oftentimes  it  is 
their  very  brains  that  seem  to  block  the  way 
to  any  spiritual  approach.  It  is  never  an  easy 
thing  for  a  great  scholar  to  become  a  little  child. 
It  is  a  costly  surrender  to  confess  that  “Not 
many  wise,  not  many  noble  are  called.’ ’  Not  for 
a  moment  would  we  be  severe  on  these  men,  or 
unjust  to  them,  and  call  their  trouble  pride,  be¬ 
cause  many  of  them  are  the  very  antinome  of 
that.  Certainly  Mr.  Edison  is  not  a  proud  man. 
Never  have  we  heard  of  his  ever  having  boasted 
of  anything  he  ever  did.  Instance  the  case  of 
Darwin.  The  Church  has  said  many  hard  things 


flDiilionaires 


45 


about  Mr.  Darwin.  And  yet  to  many  of  us 
Charles  Darwin  seems  a  good  deal  of  a  saint. 
Born  in  a  wealthy  home,  inheriting  a  consider¬ 
able  estate,  he  might  have  lived  a  lazy,  selfish, 
useless  life.  But  not  so!  From  the  very  be¬ 
ginning  he  dedicated  himself  to  the  discovery  of 
truth  and  he  went  about  it  with  the  charming 
humility  of  a  little  child,  just  reporting  what  he 
saw  or  thought  he  saw. 

But  this  misses  the  point.  Pride  is  a  very 
insidious  thing,  a  very  subtle  thing,  especially 
pride  of  intellect.  Being  grounded  on  reason,  it 
of  course  flatters  the  reason.  The  reason  min¬ 
isters  to  the  vanity  and  the  vanity  straightway 
turns  around  and  compliments  the  reason.  It  is 
a  mutual  admiration  society.  Then  it  is  so  easy 
to  become  absorbed  in  details  and  forget  unity. 
As  Goethe  said,  “The  constant  use  of  the  micro¬ 
scope  interferes  with  the  normal  use  of  the  eye.” 
These  men  are  gifted  and  they  know  they  are 
gifted.  Their  wisdom  is  worldly  wisdom.  They 
have  no  interest  in  any  truth  that  the  intellect 
cannot  formulate.  And  this  is  the  peril  of  much 
of  our  intellectual  life  to-day. 

I  think  on  the  other  hand  of  a  quiet,  beautiful 
soul  like  Asa  Gray.  How  profound  and  deep  and 
wise  he  was!  How  from  the  very  first  he  had 
read  the  significance  of  Darwinism  and  accepted 
its  general  law,  and  yet  to  the  very  last,  humble 
as  a  little  child  in  his  loyalty  to  the  voice  of 


46 


^billionaires 


revelation.  Or  instance  a  man  like  Newton! 
Was  there  ever  a  more  unassuming  student  than 
Sir  Isaac  Newton  ?  Did  he  not  compare  himself 
to  a  lad  walking  along  the  shore,  stooping  down 
every  now  and  then,  and  as  he  put  it,  “picking 
a  few  pebbles  from  the  beach.”  Or  who  that 
has  not  been  drawn  by  the  simplicity  of  Faraday. 
Michael  Faraday  was  never  troubled  by  any 
conflict  between  science  and  religion.  How 
charming  that  story  of  the  great  physicist  when 
he  was  one  night  lecturing  before  an  audience 
of  London  scientists.  After  the  lecture  was  con¬ 
cluded  the  Prince  of  Wales  arose  to  propose  a 
vote  of  thanks.  The  motion  was  put  and  carried 
and  when  they  looked  around  for  the  lecturer  he 
was  gone.  He  had  slipped  out  the  back  door,  and 
over  to  the  prayer-meeting,  to  renew  his  fellow¬ 
ship  with  God. 

Then  there  are  the  people  of  great  artistic  and 
social  gifts,  those  of  unusual  personal  accomplish¬ 
ments.  Here  is  a  young  girl  endowed  with  an 
exceptional  voice,  let  us  suppose.  She  can  de¬ 
light  audiences  with  her  singing.  What  an  en¬ 
dowment  is  hers !  What  a  power  she  wields !  Is 
she  not  truly  a  millionaire?  Maybe  in  addition 
she  is  a  child  of  culture  and  position  and  in¬ 
fluence,  with  a  beautiful  home  to  which  to  wel¬ 
come  her  friends.  She  has  a  gracious  presence, 
a  simple  charm.  What  a  telling  work  she  could 
do  if  she  would  make  the  sacrifice  and  use  her 


fSMIUonaires 


47 


gifts  and  her  charm,  not  for  her  own  selfish 
pleasure,  but  for  the  enrichment  of  the  world! 
Think  you  it  is  an  easy  thing  to  do?  I  cannot 
so  regard  it.  It  means  surrender  and  sacrifice 
and  the  giving  up  of  many  other  delightful 
things  that  one  would  like  to  do.  Perhaps  it  is 
fully  as  difficult  to  make  this  sacrifice  as  it  was 
for  the  young  man  to  whom  Jesus  said,  “Go  and 
sell  all  your  goods  and  give  the  proceeds  to  the 
poor/5  Do  you  think  it  was  an  easy  thing  for 
George  Herbert,  the  pride  of  Cambridge  Uni¬ 
versity,  to  renounce  all  his  ambitions  and  devote 
his  life  to  the  Christian  ministry?  He  was  in 
high  favour  at  court  and  in  his  position  as  public 
orator  he  wrote  all  the  official  letters  to  the 
Government.  Replying  to  a  friend  who  sought 
to  dissuade  him,  he  said,  “I  desire  to  advance 
the  glory  of  Him  who  gave  them  to  me.  And  I 
will  labour  to  be  like  my  Master  by  making  hu¬ 
mility  lovely  in  the  eyes  of  men. 9 1 

The  truth  then  is  more  searching  and  far- 
reaching  than  at  first  seems.  1 1  How  hardly  shall 
they  who  trust  in  their  riches  enter  the  King¬ 
dom.’  ’  So  stated,  it  is  certainly  not  difficult  to 
accept.  But  is  it  any  easier  for  those  who  trust 
in  their  talents  or  their  titles?  Every  endow¬ 
ment  is  a  trust.  Is  your  endowment  beauty, 
young  woman?  You  are  truly  a  millionaire  but 
bear  in  mind  the  legacy  is  a  trust.  Have  you  an 
artistic  temperament?  That  too  is  a  trust.  Do 


48 


/Billionaires 


you  possess  any  gift  of  pen  or  voice  or  pencil, 
anything  that  wins  admiration  or  applause — all 
these  accomplishments  are  trusts.  You  are  a 
trustee  of  these  treasures.  They  are  intended  as 
stepping-stones  to  something  higher.  We  call  a 
wealthy  man  a  man  of  means,  intimating  that  the 
man’s  wealth  is  a  means  to  a  higher  attainment. 
The  standing  wonder  about  strength  is  its  selfish¬ 
ness.  Mazzini  was  a  devout  believer  in  God,  but 
he  rejected  Christianity  on  the  ground  that  it 
taught  men  to  be  selfish;  it  taught  them,  he 
claimed,  to  be  so  absorbed  in  their  own  personal 
salvation  that  they  neglected  their  duty  on  earth. 
It  is  a  sad  misconception  but  a  common  one. 
Strange  that  power  as  a  rule  does  not  visualize 
and  grasp  and  evaluate  its  indebtedness. 
Think  of  a  great  country  like  America  stand¬ 
ing  aloof  and  folding  her  hands  and  saying 
to  a  rocking,  suffering  world,  4  ‘  I  dread  entangle¬ 
ments,  I  cannot  interfere.”  This  is  isolation  no 
doubt,  but  there  is  grave  doubt  as  to  whether  it 
can  be  called  splendid.  Our  gifts  and  blessings 
do  not  belong  to  us  in  fee  simple  to  do  as  we 
please  with.  We  are  the  custodians  of  these 
things  for  the  sake  of  mankind.  If  you  use  your 
privilege  selfishly  it  is  quite  possible  it  may  pall 
on  you.  Indeed  quite  likely!  It  is  said  that 
there  were  times  when  Caruso,  the  great  tenor, 
longed  for  obscurity.  He  was  reported  once  as 
saying:  “Ah,  it  is  a  curse,  this  voice.  Caruso  is 


/HMUionafres 


49 


sick  of  it  long  ago — per  Bacco !  It  is  a  nuisance ; 
one  cannot  live  as  one  wishes  and  have  an  en¬ 
cumbrance  like  this.  One  cannot  eat,  sleep, 
drink  or  be  human.  The  burdens  of  my  gift  are 
greater  than  the  rewards.  Often  before  I  go  to 
sleep  at  night  I  pray  I  will  awaken  with  my 
voice  lost  forever.  But  in  the  morning  the  voice 
— my  master — is  better  than  ever. ?  9 

Madame  Guyon  was  a  strikingly  beautiful 
woman.  Wherever  she  went  her  wit  and  charm 
evoked  applause.  She  acknowledged  the  power 
of  the  world.  It  was  a  thorn  in  her  flesh.  Then 
at  twenty-two  she  was  stricken  with  smallpox 
and  all  her  beauty  slipped  away.  But  it  was 
not  all  loss,  for  she  gained  something  else  and  it 
proved  to  be  something  better.  She  became  one 
of  the  greatest  religious  enthusiasts  of  all  time. 
Her  lovely  face  would  no  doubt  have  dazzled  the 
society  of  Paris  for  a  few  years,  but  it  was  taken 
away.  And  instead  of  an  unusual  face  we  have 
an  unusual  life,  a  life  that  will  shine  on  and  on 
until  the  end  of  time,  “a  beacon  light  in  that 
dense  mediaeval  darkness.”  Sir  Robert  Ball  in 
his  lectures  says  that  a  man  who  carries  a  sack 
of  corn  on  earth  could  carry  six  sacks  on  the 
moon.  But  on  a  world  as  large  as  the  sun  his 
watch  would  weigh  about  five  pounds.  That  is 
to  say,  it  is  the  pull  of  the  planet  we  are  on  that 
makes  things  heavy.  The  bigger  the  planet  the 
greater  the  pull.  And  if  this  world  is  the  im- 


50 


/BMUtonatres 


portant  prize  to  ns,  then  little  wonder  if  it  has 
a  mighty  pnll. 

Mark  Guy  Pearse  in  his  memoirs  says,  ‘ ‘  There 
are  men  who  do  not  care  for  any  asset  they  can¬ 
not  conveniently  cash.”  They  are  gluttons  for 
the  dollar.  They  are  so  taken  up  with  business 
that  their  hearts  have  become  asphalted.  They 
have  no  room  for  what  they  call  sentiment. 
4 ‘The  children  are  troublesome  and  are  sent  to 
the  nursery.  The  birds  are  noisy  and  should  be 
shot.  And  as  for  the  flower  garden,  they  would 
turn  it  into  a  potato  patch  unless  flowers  paid 
better.  ’  ’  These  people  are  sharp  and  shrewd  and 
what  the  world  calls  successful.  If  I  wanted 
advice  on  finance  I  would  likely  go  to  them.  But 
if  I  were  in  trouble  I  should  never  dream  of 
turning  their  way.  They  have  no  place  in  their 
whole  make-up  for  the  spiritual  side  of  things. 
Think  contrariwise  of  a  man  like  General  Booth. 
It  was  his  custom  during  the  later  years  of  his 
life  to  send  out  birthday  greetings.  His  message 
at  seventy-five  was  entitled  “What  I  would  do 
with  my  life  if  I  had  to  live  it  over  again.” 
This  was  the  message:  “I  will  tell  you  what  I 
would  do  could  I  go  back  to  the  beginning  of 
my  career.  I  would  offer  it  up  without  a  mo¬ 
ment’s  hesitation  on  the  altar  of  redeeming  love. 
In  pursuance  of  that  I  would  resolve  to  be  some¬ 
thing  that  counts  in  the  strife  raging  around 
me  between  good  and  evil.  I  would  be  a  man  of 


/liMIUonaires 


51 


spiritual  strength.  I  would  be  a  man  of  sacrifice. 
I  would  be  a  man  of  prayer,  I  would  be  a  man 
of  holiness.  I  would  have  compassion  for  human 
suffering.  I  would  be  a  man  of  faith.  ’  ’  Tell  me, 
was  not  this  man  a  millionaire?  Was  he  not 
one  of  Heaven’s  capitalists?  And  was  not  his 
wealth  truly  anointed?  Verily  indeed  it  was. 
He  realized  that  his  business  here  was  not  to  be 
ministered  unto  but  to  minister  and  to  give  his 
life  a  sacrifice  for  many.  ‘  ‘  Open  my  heart,  ’  ’  said 
Browning,  ‘ 4  and  you  will  find  written  inside  of  it 
one  word — Italy.” 

“My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  here  with  Caesar,” 
says  Mark  Antony. 

“My  heart’s  in  the  Highlands,”  sings  Burns. 
“My  heart  is  not  here.” 

“Where  is  thine  heart?”  says  Jesus.  “It  is 
where  thy  treasure  is.” 

As  J oyce  Kilmer  sings : 

“  Lord,  Thou  did’st  suffer  more  for  me 
Than  all  the  host's  of  land  and  sea. 

So  let  me  render  back  again 
This  millionth  of  Thy  gift;  Amen.” 


/ 


V 

SAINTS  IN  SODOM 


R.  OLIVER  WENDELL 
HOLMES  wrote  a  story  which 
he  called  “Elsie  Venner.”  It 
is  a  snake  story.  The  scene  of 
the  story  is  laid  in  New  Eng¬ 
land,  in  a  little  town  lying  at 
the  foot  of  a  mountain  celebrated  for  its  reptiles. 
Living  in  the  town  was  a  young  girl  by  the  name 
of  Elsie  Venner.  She  was  a  restless  child — 
wild,  wayward,  capricious.  She  was  very  pretty 
but  there  was  something  about  her  beauty,  some¬ 
thing  in  her  eyes,  something  in  her  gliding,  curv¬ 
ing  movements  that  reminded  everybody  she  met 
of  a  rattlesnake.  She  shared  too  in  some  of  their 
strange  powers.  She  seemed  able  to  charm  them 
as  they  charm  the  birds.  She  had  a  good  many 
of  their  likes  and  dislikes.  The  leaves  of  the 
white  ash  affected  her  just  as  they  do  the  serpent. 
As  she  grew  older  she  began  to  manifest  the  most 
peculiar  singularities  of  taste  and  temper. 
Strange  stories  began  to  circulate,  so  that  the 
whole  town  talked  about  her,  and  when  she  ap¬ 
peared  on  the  street  every  one  would  turn  and 
say,  “That’s  Elsie  Venner.”  She  would  steal 

52 


Saints  in  Sofcom 


53 


away  from  her  home  in  the  quiet  of  the  night 
when  all  the  town  was  fast  asleep  and  seek  out 
their  haunts.  She  loved  to  handle  and  fondle 
them.  In  fits  of  passion  she  would  bite  and,  the 
bites  were  poisonous.  The  physician  always 
cauterized  them  as  he  would  the  bite  of  some 
venomous  creature.  And  the  explanation  of  her 
strange  peculiarities  seemed  to  be  that  a  little 
while  before  she  was  born  her  mother  had  been 
bitten  by  a  crotalus,  and  had  died  from  the 
wound  immediately  after  giving  birth  to  her 
child.  So  Elsie  was  born  with  the  poison  of  the 
rattler  in  her  blood  and  with  a  good  deal  of  the 
nature  of  the  serpent  in  her  moods. 

We  are  hearing  much  to-day  again  about  Mr. 
Darwin.  He  is  once  more  in  the  limelight.  To 
be  sure  his  critics  are  still  many,  but  the  army 
of  his  friends  keeps  steadily  growing,  and  among 
the  better  class.  Perhaps  it  is  not  going  too  far 
to  say  that  his  book  has  had  more  influence  on 
human  thought  than  any  other  book  ever  printed, 
save  the  Bible.  Its  broad,  general  principles  are 
becoming  more  and  more  each  year  the  working 
hypothesis  of  the  scientist,  the  biologist,  the  so¬ 
ciologist,  yes,  even  of  the  theologian.  The  fact 
of  evolution  is  not  questioned  by  most  scientists 
any  more:  the  only  doubt  they  entertain  is  the 
method. 

Now  two  of  the  fundamental  laws  of  the 
‘‘Origin  of  Species’ ’  are  the  law  of  heredity  and 


54 


Saints  in  So&om 


the  law  of  environment.  “We  are  all  born  with 
a  history  in  ns.  ’  ’  This  is  one  of  the  corner-stones 
of  evolutionary  thought.  4  ‘  Like  father  like  son,  ’  ’ 
we  say.  “He’s  a  chip  of  the  old  block.”  That 
there  is  a  transmission  of  features  no  one  doubts. 
When  we  meet  a  Jew  or  a  Chinaman  there  is  no 
uncertainty  in  our  minds  on  that  score.  And 
not  only  are  features  transmitted;  tastes  and 
tricks  and  temperaments  are  transmitted  too. 
Modem  scientists  like  Galton  and  Ribot  have 
brought  to  light  many  facts  revealing  what  a 
force  heredity  is  in  our  lives. 

A  force  both  for  evil  and  for  good !  Children 
are  what  their  parents  are.  A  father  may  pol¬ 
lute  his  offspring:  a  mother  may  predispose  her 
child.  Some  people  do  not  believe  in  predestina¬ 
tion  but  this  is  predestination  with  revenge. 
The  spring  is  poisoned  at  the  fountain  and  the 
water  is  never  pure,  or  it  is  sweetened  and  so 
forever  fresh.  Some  months  ago  a  great  surgeon 
told  us  of  operating  on  a  young  lad.  A  blow  on 
the  head  years  before  had  induced  kleptomania. 
Heredity  too  may  strike  the  blow  that  cracks  the 
skull  and  creates  a  degenerate. 

And  environment  likewise  is  a  fact  to  be 
reckoned  with.  Sometimes  the  slightest  impres¬ 
sion  determines  the  groove.  If  you  scratch  a 
pane  of  glass  with  a  diamond  point  the  cleavage 
will  follow  the  line.  Buckle  goes  so  far  as  to 
say  that  what  we  eat  decides  what  we  are.  A 


Saints  in  Sofcont 


55 


nation  is  determined  by  its  diet.  There  are 
writers  to-day  who  are  telling  ns  that  man  is  a 
mere  feather  on  the  wave.  He  is  swept  along  by 
the  current.  The  determining  factor  is  external. 
Writers  like  Galsworthy!  According  to  Gals¬ 
worthy  man  is  helpless  against  the  pressure  of 
his  inheritance  or  his  entourage.  Nearly  all  his 
victims  go  down  before  “birth’s  invidious  bar.” 
Or  if  blood  doesn’t  damn  them,  climatology  does. 
So  readily  do  they  surrender.  Here  I  am  writ¬ 
ing  these  words.  It  is  a  beautiful  summer  morn¬ 
ing.  The  day  is  warm  and  I  am  stretched  out 
under  the  lilac  bushes.  Across  the  way  there 
is  a  vast  estate  owned  by  a  millionaire,  who  has 
almost  ransacked  both  hemispheres  and  the 
islands  of  the  sea  for  treasures  and  curiosities  to 
adorn  his  home  and  his  grounds — antelopes  from 
Africa,  vicunas  from  South  America.  He  took 
particular  pride  in  a  couple  of  reindeer  he 
brought  from  Alaska,  placing  them  in  a  ten-acre 
enclosure  of  the  richest  verdure.  But  the  luxury 
was  too  much  for  them  and  they  died.  Poor 
creatures,  they  had  been  rooted  out  of  their 
native  soil.  Their  national  habitat  was  the  cold, 
frozen  peaks  of  Alaska. 

The  beauty  about  the  Christian  faith,  however, 
is  that  it  can  master  these  things.  Science  tells 
us  that  we  are  the  inevitable  results  of  all  that 
has  gone  before,  but  the  fundamental  fact  of  re¬ 
ligion  is  that  we  have  a  living  will  within  that 


56 


Saints  in  Sofcont 


can  change  what  has  gone  before.  A  resolute 
will  is  more  than  a  match  for  the  past;  it  can 
even  shape  the  future.  Africanus  was  the  son 
of  a  cannibal  chief  and  yet  he  grew  up  to  be  a 
great  Christian  scholar  and  a  bishop  of  the 
Church.  Heredity  does  not  explain  Africanus. 
Ahaz,  one  of  the  worst  kings  that  ever  reigned 
over  Judah,  was  followed  by  his  son  Hezekiah, 
one  of  the  best.  There  are  many  of  these  con¬ 
tradictions  in  life.  Something  like  the  old  foun¬ 
tain  Arethusa  in  ancient  Greece.  It  ran  for  I 
cannot  recall  how  many  miles  through  the  salt 
and  bitter  sea,  all  the  way  from  Peloponnesus  to 
Trinacria  and  then  shot  up  bubbling,  cool,  sweet 
drinking  water  in  far-off  Ortygia. 

And  the  same  is  true  of  environment.  En¬ 
vironment  is  a  big  word  but  men  sometimes  make 
their  own  environment.  The  pull  of  the  popular 
tide  is  tremendously  strong  but  men  have 
breasted  even  that.  No  environment  can  compel 
a  man  to  be  bad  who  really  wants  to  be  good,  nor 
to  be  good  who  is  determined  to  be  bad.  Luci¬ 
fer  was  unhappy  in  heaven.  They  could  not 
keep  Artemus  in  hell.  The  Christian  evangel  is 
that  the  new  life  in  the  soul  can  neutralize  any 
poison  and  breast  any  flood.  It  is  an  interior 
energy  that  can  defy  taint  or  tempest.  It  is  a 
victory  over  contrary  conditions.  The  promise 
is  always  “To  him  that  overcometh. 9 ’  Tropical 
shrubs  will  not  flourish  in  the  Arctic  Circle  but 


Saints  in  Sofcom 


57 


Christianity  can  flourish  in  any  circle.  Obadiah 
kept  his  conscience  clear  in  the  household  of 
Ahab.  Daniel  preserved  his  integrity  in  the 
court  of  Babylon,  and  Nehemiah  was  true  to  the 
faith  of  his  fathers  in  the  palace  of  the  Persian 
emperor.  So  many  are  telling  us  to-day  that 
American  character  is  being  determined  by  our 
mountains  and  lakes  and  rivers  and  prairies,  by 
the  streets  and  tenements  of  our  big  cities,  by  the 
log  cabins  out  on  the  frontiers.  But  the  facts 
riddle  this  theory  to  fragments.  There  are 
scores  of  things  stronger  than  environment,  a 
high  ideal  for  instance,  a  steady  purpose,  a  firm 
conviction,  a  noble  example.  Abraham  Lincoln 
has  had  more  to  do  with  the  shaping  of  our 
Americanism  than  all  the  mountains  in  Arizona 
or  the  lakes  in  the  Adirondacks  or  the  tenements 
in  Manhattan,  more  than  all  the  log  cabins  in 
Texas.  There  were  saints,  we  are  told,  in 
Cagsar’s  household.  And  let  it  not  be  forgotten 
who  this  fellow  Cagsar  was;  he  was  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  infamous  Nero.  Mrs.  Booth 
lived  an  apostolic  life  in  Whitechapel.  David 
Livingstone  died  a  spiritual  hero  in  the  heart  of 
Africa.  High  up  in  the,  cold  Sierras,  far  past  the 
timber  line,  may  be  seen  stunted  trees,  smaller 
than  currant  bushes.  Foresters  tell  us  they  are 
at  least  fifty  years  old.  It  is  a  splendid  object 
lesson  of  a  stubborn  fight  against  storm  and  vio¬ 
lence.  The  brave  little  shrubs  struggle  on  and 


58 


Saints  in  Sofcom 


wrestle  with  their  handicap.  How  many  thou¬ 
sands  of  lives  are  grappling  with  their  handicap, 
and  grappling  successfully,  above  “the  human 
timber  line.” 

“  In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 
I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud; 

Beneath  the  bludgeonings  of  chance 
My  head  is  bloody  but  unbowed.” 

The  world  is  full  of  wonderful  things ;  the  age 
of  miracles  is  not  past.  The  revival  of  wonder 
is  not  an  idle  dream.  “Greater  works  than 
these  shall  ye  do.”  And  when  we  stop  to  think 
it  out,  is  there  any  greater  wonder  than  to  be  a 
saint  in  Sodom?  The  Bible  takes  us  into  the 
slums  but  it  never  leaves  us  there.  It  always 
leads  us  out.  It  says,  When  you  he  in  Rome  do 
not  do  as  the  Romans  do,  but  try  and  get  the 
Romans  to  do  as  you  do.  One  would  suppose 
that  the  army  was  a  poor  school  for  morals  but 
some  of  the  choicest  souls  that  ever  walked  our 
earth  were  army  men.  One  might  mention  Gen¬ 
eral  Gordon,  General  Howard,  General  Arm¬ 
strong,  General  Havelock,  Stonewall  Jackson  and 
a  long  list  of  like  immortals.  The  stage  has  al¬ 
ways  been  under  fire.  But  even  the  stage  can 
show  her  company  of  the  shining  faithful. 
Thayer,  the  biographer  of  Beethoven,  tells  us 
that  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  composer’s  sym¬ 
phonies  was  constructed  out  of  a  simple  folk-lore 
song.  He  was  lying  half  asleep  in  a  little  coun- 


Saints  in  So&om 


59 


try  tavern  when  a  simple  shepherd  lad  passed 
under  the  windows  humming  a  sentimental 
ballad.  The  melody  captivated  the  master.  He 
tossed  it  about  in  his  dreams  all  night.  He 
turned  it  over  and  over  into  infinite  variations. 
He  incorporated  into  it  strange  piercing  cries 
and  sweet  minor  strains.  And  in  the  morning 
the  simple  ballad  came  forth  one  of  his  most 
glorious  creations — the  Pastoral  Symphony,  one 
of  his  nine  greatest  works.  This  is  the  triumph 
of  all  art,  turning  the  formless  into  form,  turning 
the  colourless  into  colour.  In  the  poet’s  hands 
two  dogs,  two  jolly  beggars,  are  “  shaped  into 
measures  of  magic.”  To  take  hold  of  the  simple 
things  and  glorify  them — this  is  art.  The  trans¬ 
figuration  of  the  ordinary  is  the  extraordinary. 
They  are  telling  us  to-day  that  the  newest  thing 
in  gardening  is  a  process  whereby  the  nature  of 
the  soil  becomes  almost  a  matter  of  indifference. 
Any  soil  can  be  made  to  yield  anything.  Bur¬ 
bank  makes  common  sand  bear  beautiful  roses. 
It  is  a  splendid  parable  of  the  truth  that  the 
flower  of  a  beautiful  character  can  be  grown  in 
any  clime,  under  any  sky,  out  of  any  soil,  by  any 
fallen  son  of  Adam. 


VI 

CONQUERING  THREE  WORLDS 


HERE  are  several  standards  by 
which  to  judge  any  conquering 
career.  One  is  to  get  a  tape 
line  and  measure  its  external 
dimensions.  The  length  and 
breadth  and  height  are  so  and 
so;  so  many  books  written,  so  many  discoveries 
made,  so  many  battles  fought,  so  many  Victoria 
crosses  won,  so  many  degrees  conferred,  so  many 
millions  amassed,  so  much  space  in  the  public 
press !  It  is  the  standard  of  mundane  glory  and 
popular  applause.  When  we  visit  any  of  the 
great  capitals  of  Europe  and  note  the  monuments, 
one  is  struck  with  the  fact  that  they  are  so 
largely  monuments  to  fighting  men ;  or  if  not  to 
fighting  men,  to  royalty.  And  royalty  decked 
out  as  a  rule  in  helmets  and  spurs  and  medals. 
Even  the  places  of  worship,  it  would  seem,  are 
not  infrequently  burial  places  for  the  soldier. 
St.  Paul’s  Cathedral  is  a  veritable  temple  of 
Mars.  London  has  no  monument  to  John  Wes¬ 
ley,  none  to  General  Booth,  but  London  has  at 
least  a  dozen  monuments  to  the  Duke  of  Welling¬ 
ton.  Here  is  Sir  Hiram  Maxim!  What  a  tri- 

6o 


Conquering  Cbree  WovlOs  6\ 


umphant  career  was  his!  Certainly  he  was  an 
inventive  genius  if  ever  there  was  one.  He  won 
medal  after  medal  in  the  realm  of  actual  achieve¬ 
ment.  He  devised  a  gun  called  after  his  name. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  deadly  weapons  on  the  field 
of  battle.  It  can  fire  more  than  six  hundred 
rounds  a  minute,  and  with  absolute  accuracy  as 
far  as  two  miles.  Think  of  the  hundreds  of  thou¬ 
sands  of  boys  who  must  have  fallen  by  the  Maxim 
gun  alone  in  the  great  war.  He  won  fame  and 
fortune.  He  was  knighted  by  King  George. 
Truly  indeed  by  the  laws  of  cold  steel  he  was 
one  of  the  conquerors  of  the  world,  or  rather  he 
was  a  conqueror  of  one  of  the  worlds.  He  con¬ 
quered  the  world  without. 

But  the  point  is,  are  these  things  really  con¬ 
quests!  Is  the  path  of  war  the  road  to  lasting 
glory?  Is  it  right  to  call  a  thing  successful 
simply  because  it  issues  in  a  fabulous  income  or 
in  the  slaughter  of  the  innocents?  If  so,  then 
some  of  history’s  heroes  are  crowning  failures. 
Mazzini  for  instance!  So  often  we  tack  on  the 
right  word  to  the  wrong  thing.  So  often  a  worth¬ 
less  fellow  wears  a  noble  name.  Not  infrequently 
what  men  call  success  is  nothing  less  than  cool 
and  calculating  swindle.  There  was  little  that 
the  world  would  cheer  in  Paul’s  career.  Judged 
by  every  earthly  rule  it  was  a  foiled  and  bank¬ 
rupt  thing.  From  the  day  that  he  staggered 
blind  and  weak  into  the  streets  of  Damascus, 


62  Conquering  Cforee  TOorlbs 


down  to  the  last  hour  of  his  martyrdom,  it  was  a 
long  story  of  sickness  and  hardship  and  loneli¬ 
ness  and  imprisonment  and  peril.  And  yet 
when  we  come  to  assess  the  world  within ;  when 
we  catalogue  the  inward  laurels,  the  trophies 
won  on  the  field  of  character ;  when  we  count  up 
the  spiritual  garlands,  the  triumphal  arches  of 
the  inner  life;  when  we  register  the  times  that 
he  outmanoeuvred  and  routed  the  beast ;  when  we 
judge  the  man  by  this  standard  it  was  a  life  of 
magnificent  and  daring  mastery.  He  comes  out 
of  the  struggle  wearing  palms. 

There  is  one  expression  along  this  line  that  the 
Apostle  uses  that  is  worth  looking  into.  It  is 
found  in  that  great,  thrilling  climax  where  he  is 
enumerating  the  enemies  we  have  to  face, — tribu¬ 
lation,  distress,  persecution,  famine,  nakedness, 
peril,  sword.  And  it  will  be  recalled  how  he  tosses 
them  all  aside  with  the  observation  that  in  all 
these  things  we  are  more  than  conquerors. 
‘ ‘  More  than  conquerors !  ’  ’  How,  it  may  be  asked, 
can  one  be  more  than  a  conqueror?  Is  that  not 
an  impractical  ideal,  a  sort  of  rhetorical  flourish  ? 
Isn’t  it  a  little  too  ethereal  and  super-mundane 
to  be  true?  No,  a  good  many  things  we  are 
asked  to  believe  are  not  ethereal  enough  to  be 
true.  The  Apostle  is  not  speaking  of  the  world 
without.  He  is  speaking,  remember,  of  the 
world  within.  And  there  are  no  limits  to  the 
heights  to  which  one  can  hope  to  soar  in  that  sky. 


Conquering  Cbree  TKHorlbs  63 


How  many  a  hero  has  conquered  the  air,  con¬ 
quered  the  sea,  conquered  the  mountains,  con¬ 
quered  the  cold,  and  then  failed  to  conquer  him¬ 
self.  Here  is  Alexander  lying  drunk  under  the 
table  while  all  around  are  the  empty  tankards 
telling  the  story  of  the  night’s  debauch.  He  has 
conquered  the  world  and  sighed  for  more  worlds 
to  attack,  but  when  face  to  face  with  the  greater 
world,  the  world  within,  he  was  a  pitiable  sight. 
No  man  is  a  master  here  till  he  has  learned  to 
master  himself.  What  profit  is  there  in  over¬ 
coming  one’s  enemy  if  we  leave  behind  a  legacy 
of  hate  ?  The  right  way  to  meet  evil  is  to  show 
forth  the  opposite  of  it  in  one’s  own  life.  If  we 
would  conquer  pride  in  men  we  must  be  clothed 
with  humility  ourselves.  If  we  would  lift  our 
friend  out  of  the  depths  of  despair  we  must  let 
hope  shine  out  of  our  own  eyes.  If  we  would 
really  get  the  better  of  our  enemy  we  must  love 
him  and  do  him  a  kindness. 

This  is  the  glory  of  men  like  Abraham  Lincoln. 
It  will  be  remembered  when  Richmond  was  taken 
the  military  men  arranged  a  great  procession. 
They  had  planned  to  march  into  the  captured 
city  with  Lincoln  heading  the  parade.  “But,” 
said  the  President,  “how  will  I  look  at  the  head 
of  those  troops;  that  is  no  place  for  me.” 
“Why,”  they  said,  “you  are  the  President,  that 
is  the  very  place  for  you.”  “But,”  said  the 
great  man,  “will  it  not  hurt  the  feelings  of  the 


64  Gonquerinq  TTbree  Worlbs 


Southern  people  to  have  such  a  procession  ?” 
They  answered,  “We  must  not  think  of  that;  we 
must  think  of  the  victory.”  “But,”  said  Mr. 
Lincoln,  “  I  do  think  of  that,  and  if  I  go  to  Rich¬ 
mond  I  will  go  in  a  quiet  way :  I  will  go  with  no 
banners.”  And  so  the  whole  program  was  de¬ 
feated,  and  when  President  Lincoln  did  go  down 
to  Richmond  a  few  days  later,  he  walked  up  the 
street  alone.  And  when  he  spoke  to  the  people, 
this  is  what  he  said :  “  I  am  not  here  to  see  what 
you  can  do  for  me,  but  I  am  here  to  see  what  we 
can  do  for  you.” 

This  has  always  been  one  of  the  crowning  evils 
of  war.  Disputes  are  never  settled  by  the  sword. 
The  victories  won  on  the  battlefields  of  earth  do 
not  bring  real  peace ;  they  bring  hatred  and  bit¬ 
terness  and  revenge.  It  was  General  Grant  who 
said  he  knew  nothing  sadder  than  a  defeated 
army,  unless  it  was  a  victorious  army.  We  have 
it  on  good  authority  that  Bismarck  just  before 
he  died  said  that  if  he  were  to  wage  another  suc¬ 
cessful  war,  one  of  the  terms  of  peace  would  be 
that  Germany  should  pay  a  large  indemnity  to 
the  losers.  We  speak  sometimes  as  if  peace  were 
simply  the  cessation  of  hostilities.  But  is  that  so  ? 
Is  peace  nothing  more  than  the  sheathing  of  the 
sword?  Is  it  nothing  more  than  a  temporary 
truce,  a  sort,  of  modus  vivendi  enabling  nations 
to  patch  up  their  troubles  and  get  along  together 
somehow?  Is  that  all  it  means?  Surely  it  is 


Conquering  Cbtee  Motlbs  65 


not  enough  to  lay  a  country  in  ruins  and  call  the 
devastation  peace !  A  man  was  once  cheated  out 
of  some  money  by  a  crook  whom  he  had  trusted. 
He  made  no  effort,  however,  to  punish  the  fellow 
and  get  even.  Some  one  said  to  him,  “  Why  not 
take  the  matter  into  the  courts ?”  “Well,”  he 
answered,  “it’s  this  way.  If  I  do  that,  I  will 
likely  win  my  case,  but  it  will  take  a  long  time 
and  it  will  stir  up  a  lot  of  bad  blood,  and  I 
reckon  if  I  go  to  work  I  can  make  up  in  the  mean¬ 
time  what  I  lost  and  feel  a  whole  lot  better.” 
Surely  that  man  had  found  the  deeper  secret. 
He  was  like  Lincoln.  He  had  no  room  in  his 
heart  for  the  memory  of  a  wrong. 

Some  one  has  observed  that  there  are  four 
ways  in  which  to  treat  a  fellow  mortal  who  tries 
to  injure  us.  One  is  the  way  of  vindictiveness. 
It  says,  Well,  if  he  hits  me  I  will  hit  him  back, 
only  a  little  harder.  The  second  is  the  way  of 
retribution ;  If  he  hits  me  I  will  return  the  blow 
and  hand  him  a  dose  of  his  own  elixir.  “An  eye 
for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.”  The  third  is 
the  way  of  injured  pride;  If  he  tries  to  hurt  me 
I  will  just  ignore  the  matter  and  treat  him  with 
silent  contempt.  And  the  fourth  is  the  way  of 
Lincoln ;  If  a  man  wrongs  me  I  will  say  to  him, 
“Well,  my  brother,  you  evidently  do  not  want  to 
be  my  friend,  but  I  do  want  to  be  yours.  ’ 9 

But  there  is  still  another  world  besides  the 
world  without  and  the  world  within.  It  is  pos- 


66  Conquering  Cbree  Moribs 


sible  to  have  one’s  passions  under  control  and  yet 
not  be  a  victor  in  the  Pauline  sense.  Mr.  H.  G-. 
Wells  gives  us  his  judgment  as  to  the  six  greatest 
men  in  history.  Few  of  us  will  agree  with  him 
in  the  selection.  It  is  astonishing,  for  one  thing, 
is  it  not,  to  put  Asoka  in  this  hall  of  fame,  a  man 
who  massacred  his  own  brothers,  and  leave  out, 
well  Paul,  say.  But  it  is  interesting  to  note  that 
with  this  exception,  not  one  of  his  heroes  is  a 
great  king  who  carved  his  deeds  in  bronze,  nor  a 
great  soldier  who  wrote  them  in  blood,  but  five 
gentle,  unselfish  souls,  who  achieved  immortality 
by  living  and  labouring  for  others — Jesus, 
Buddha,  Aristotle,  Bacon,  Lincoln.  Truly  in¬ 
deed 


“  Conquest  comes  by  fighting 
More  than  conquest  without  fighting.” 

I  have  always  been  charmed  myself  with  the 
life  of  General  Gordon.  Gordon  is  one  of  my 
heroes.  Although  he  was  a  soldier  he  never  car¬ 
ried  a  sword.  He  always  led  his  troops  unarmed. 
He  carried  nothing  but  a  cane  painted  white. 
It  was  this  fearless  confidence  that  so  inspired 
his  men.  The  man  was  so  full  of  the  spiritual 
that  his  soldiers  stood  in  awe  of  him.  They  said 
he  is  not  human ;  he  is  in  league  with  the  world 
above.  It  was  the  man’s  absolute  goodness  that 
made  him  mighty.  Or  take  St.  Francis:  Prob¬ 
ably  the  man  who  has  wielded  the  widest  influ- 


Conquering  Cbree  Morlbs 


67 


ence  on  the  world  since  the  days  of  the  Apostles 
was  St.  Francis.  How  did  he  do  it?  He  was 
poor,  as  we  know.  Poverty  was  his  bride.  “He 
was  married  to  poverty.’ ’  It  will  be  remem¬ 
bered  that  when  he  started  out  upon  the  road  to 
follow  the  gleam,  he  surrendered  every  dollar  he 
had,  gave  up  all  his  goods,  and  when  his  father, 
who  did  not  approve  of  his  son ’s  foolish  notions, 
somewhat  sternly  reminded  him  that  the  clothes 
on  his  body  were  not  his  own,  the  young  man 
took  them  off  in  the  market-place  and  went  out 
into  the  world  naked.  Yet  St.  Francis  of  Assisi 
has  had  more  influence  on  mankind  than  any 
Czar  or  Croesus  or  Caesar.  No  millionaire  with 
his  untold  millions  has  ever  affected  the  human 
race  as  St.  Francis  has.  How  did  he  do  it  ?  He 
did  it  by  the  sheer  power  of  goodness. 

And  so  it  is  not  always  the  people  who  succeed, 
as  we  say,  who  are  the  conquerors.  Contrariwise 
indeed,  it  would  sometimes  seem  that  the  great 
army  of  spiritual  champions  were  what  the  world 
calls  failures.  To  go  down  to  defeat  coura¬ 
geously,  but  with  the  flag  of  faith  held  aloft — 
this  is  to  be  a  real  victor.  To  smile  at  pain  with 
the  Love  Divine  near — this  is  to  be  a  victor.  To 
look  death  in  the  face  and  be  able  to  say:  “Come 
life,  come  death,  come  poverty  or  wealth,  come 
sickness,  come  health,  come  what  will,  what  mat¬ 
ter  if  only  it  be  the  will  of  God, 9  9 — this  is  to  be 
a  victor.  Some  one  notes  that  humanity  might 


68  Conquering  Cbree  TOorlbs 


have  prospered  fairly  well  without  its  successes, 
but  could  never  have  gotten  along  without  its 
failures.  Because  pretty  nearly  every  great 
blessing  we  enjoy  to-day  is  built  upon  a  failure. 
Across  the  river  Tay  in  Scotland  there  is  a  won¬ 
derful  bridge,  the  longest  in  the  world,  but  it  is 
laid  upon  the  ruins  of  a  failure.  A  great 
engineer,  Sir  Thomas  Bouch,  many  years  before 
had  designed  and  completed  a  similar  structure, 
which  collapsed  one  dark  night  in  a  gale  and 
carried  with  it  fourscore  human  beings  down  to 
a  watery  grave,  and  drove  the  famous  engineer 
into  an  asylum,  a  wreck  both  in  body  and  mind. 
Other  engineers  followed.  They  learned  from 
Sir  Thomas’  mistakes;  they  improved  upon  his 
plans ;  and  their  success  is  due  largely  to  his  fail¬ 
ure.  So  three  cheers  to  the  man  who  fails.  Not 
infrequently  he  is  the  real  victor.  I  am  thinking 
of  a  room  where  a  lifelong  pain  is  developing  a 
beautiful  character.  I  am  thinking  of  another 
home  where  domestic  infelicity  is  being  borne 
with  a  courage  that  no  soldier  boy  in  Flanders 
ever  excelled.  I  am  picturing  a  quiet  mother 
growing  pinched  in  face  and  bent  in  form  be¬ 
cause  of  a  devil  of  a  husband  who  is  just  as  ugly 
and  hateful  as  a  man  could  possibly  be.  Yes, 
and  further  down  the  street,  I  am  thinking  of 
another  kind  of  a  husband,  nursing  with  cheer¬ 
fulness  and  tenderness  an  invalid  wife  and  try¬ 
ing  to  make  her  comfortable  and  happy.  And  a 


Conquering  Cbree  Morins  69 


step  further  there  is  another  home  where  a 
widow,  with  four  little  mouths  to  feed,  is  fighting 
a  battle  in  the  face  of  the  high  cost  of  living  that 
calls  for  just  as  much  grit  and  pluck  and  ginger 
as  any  drive  on  the  banks  of  the  Somme.  Aren’t 
these  things  victories  too? 

“  O  great  is  the  hero  who  wins  a  name, 

But  greater  many  and  many  a  time 
Some  pale-faced  fellow  who  dies  in  shame, 

And  lets  God  finish  the  thought  sublime.” 

There  is  a  story  of  a  young  priest  who  began 
his  ministry  with  great  enthusiasm.  He  wished 
to  do  good  in  the  spirit  of  his  Master,  and  that 
Master  was  blessing  him  richly  in  his  work.  But 
one  day  an  old  bishop  asked  him  if  he  felt  he 
could  go  on  just  the  same,  provided  he  met  with 
failure.  And  the  young  priest  in  the  joy  of  his 
work  said  that  he  could  go  on  no  matter  what  the 
results  might  be.  Personal  rewards  were  not  es¬ 
sential.  Years  passed  by  and  the  young  man 
met  with  reverses.  His  parish  was  not  as  re¬ 
sponsive  as  once  it  wms.  He  saw  little  or  no  fruit 
from  his  labours,  and  he  lost  in  a  measure  the 
consciousness  of  the  Divine  Presence. 

One  afternoon  when  things  looked  particularly 
dark,  he  was  thinking  of  the  question  the  old 
bishop  asked  him  many  years  before,  and  he  was 
feeling  very  lonely  and  depressed.  He  started 
out  for  a  walk  along  the  shore  and  came  upon  a 
little  hut  where  a  poor  widow  lived.  It  was 


70  Conquering  Cforee  Morlfcs 


growing  dusk,  and  he  noticed  a  brazier  outside  in 
which  a  bright  fire  was  burning.  It  was  rather 
cold  and  she  was  standing  warming  herself  by 
the  blaze.  Stepping  up,  he  ventured  “Good 
evening.”  She  noticed  that  he  was  a  priest  of 
the  Church,  and  invited  him  into  her  humble 
dwelling.  “I  have  no  fire  in  the  room,”  she 
said,  “but  if  you  don’t  mind  coming  into  the 
kitchen,  you’ll  find  it  comfortable  I  think.” 
“And  why  do  you  keep  this  fire  outside?”  he 
asked.  To  which  she  answered,  and  this  was  her 
reply:  “Do  you  see  those  rocks  yonder?  They 
are  very  dangerous.  Some  years  ago  my  only 
boy  was  drowned  out  there,”  pointing  to  the 
dashing  waves,  4  4  and  ever  since  I  have  kept  this 
beacon  burning  as  a  warning  to  others.  I  can¬ 
not  afford  two  fires,  and  so  I  live  in  the  kitchen 
mostly  and  keep  the  one  outside  alive.” 

The  young  priest  was  greatly  touched.  He 
went  away  with  a  deep  and  solemn  resolve.  He 
saw  that  he  had  been  selfish.  He  had  been  think¬ 
ing  too  much  of  himself  and  of  his  own  personal 
appreciation.  And  he  went  back  determined  to 
keep  the  fire  on  the  altar  burning,  even  if  the  fire 
in  his  own  heart  was  cold.  And  it  was  not  long 
either  till  the  old  warmth  returned. 

I  sing  the  hymn  of  the  conquered,  who  fell  in  the  battle 
of  life — 

The  hymn  of  the  wounded,  the  beaten,  who  died  over¬ 
whelmed  in  the  strife: 


Conquering  XTbree  Morlbs 


Not  the  jubilant  song  of  the  victors,  for  whom  the  re¬ 
sounding  acclaim 

Of  nations  was  lifted  in  chorus,  whose  brows  wore  the 
chaplet  of  fame — 

But  the  hymn  of  the  low  and  the  humble,  the  weary,  the 
broken  in  heart, 

Who  strove  and  who  failed,  acting  bravely  a  silent  and 
desperate  part ; 

Whose  youth  bore  no  flower  on  its  branches,  whose 
hopes  burned  in  ashes  away: 

From  whose  hands  slipped  the  prize  they  had  grasped 
at :  who  stood  at  the  dying  of  day 

With  the  work  of  their  life  all  around  them,  unpitied, 
unheeded,  alone; 

With  death  swooping  down  o’er  their  failure,  and  all 
but  their  faith  overthrown. 

Speak,  History,  who  are  life’s  victors?  unroll  thy  long 
annals  and  say — 

Are  they  those  whom  the  world  called  the  victors,  who 
won  the  success  of  a  day? 

The  martyrs,  or  Nero?  the  Spartans  who  fell  at  Ther¬ 
mopylae’s  tryst, 

Or  the  Persians  and  Xerxes?  his  judges,  or  Socrates? 
Pilate  or  Christ? 


W.  W.  Story, 


RAINBOWS  IN  THE  MORNING 


“  Rainbow  in  the  morning. 

Sailors  take  warning ; 

Rainbow  at  night, 

Sailors’  delight.” 

NE  of  the  striking  things  about 
the  Master  is  that  His  entrance 
examinations  are  so  stiff.  He 
never  paints  rainbows  in  the 
morning.  He  saves  His  rain¬ 
bows  till  the  evening.  The  pic¬ 
ture  He  sketches  in  the  morning  is  usually  dull 
and  drab.  It  is  a  bit  uncheering  and  forbidding. 
He  seems  to  try  purposely  to  dampen  enthusi¬ 
asm.  He  says  the  gate  is  strait,  the  way  nar¬ 
row.  Never  once  does  He  veil  in  the  smallest 
way  the  hardships  of  His  calling.  He  wants  no 
follower  on  false  pretenses.  He  never  lowers 
His  standard,  never  whittles  down  His  terms. 
We  are  not  to  follow  Him  because  it  pays,  but 
because  it  costs. 

This  certainly  is  not  the  usual  procedure.  The 
world,  for  instance,  never  begins  by  doing  busi¬ 
ness  in  that  way.  Here  filed  away  somewhere 
among  my  letters  is  the  prospectus  of  some  new 
stock  venture.  I  think  it  is  an  oil  well;  no,  I 

72 


IRatnbows  in  tbe  /[Doming  73 


believe  it  is  a  gold  mine.  And  the  promise  is 
extremely  inviting.  Some  one,  by  the  way,  has 
noted  that  a  gold  mine  is  a  hole  in  the  ground 
owned  by  a  liar.  Take  the  forecast  of  a  Presi¬ 
dential  election.  How  glowing  it  is!  No  mat¬ 
ter  what  Daily  one  reads.  Both  sides  are  confi¬ 
dent  of  success.  I  cannot  recall  any  Presidential 
election  where  either  party  admitted  defeat  the 
night  before.  Or  instance  some  gladiatorial  en¬ 
counter.  Who  ever  heard  a  pessimistic  predic¬ 
tion — well  of  a  prize-fight  say?  Each  side  bets 
on  their  man.  He’s  going  to  win  sure.  He  can¬ 
not  possibly  lose.  He’s  younger  and  stronger 
and  faster.  Or  he’s  a  harder  hitter.  He  has 
the  punch,  the  reach,  the  steam,  the  stuff,  the 
smash,  the  wallop.  This  is  the  lingo  we  hear: 
It  is  the  way  of  the  world  I  say. 

One  of  the  popular  appeals  in  describing  the 
religious  life  to-day  is  to  picture  it  as  a  very 
simple  matter.  We  have  heard  so  much  of  the 
simple  Gospel  that  many  are  led  to  think  that  it 
is  simple  in  its  practical  workings  and  that  no 
great  sacrifice  is  needed.  True  the  cross  is  there, 
but  largely  as  an  ornament.  Or  maybe  it  is 
wreathed  in  woodbine.  The  road  is  brilliantly 
lighted.  It  is  a  journey  of  ease  and  comfort  and 
beautiful  outlook  along  the  delectable  mountains. 

But  when  Jesus  presents  His  case  He  paints 
the  dark  side.  He  speaks  of  the  hardships,  the 
likelihood  of  failure.  It  is  a  struggle,  a  battle, 


74  IRatnbows  in  tbe  /iDorntna 


a  martyrdom,  a  crusade.  He  seems  to  be  so  fear¬ 
ful  of  over-colouring  things  that  sometimes  it 
almost  looks  as  if  He  were  leaning  the  other 
way.  The  road  is  rough,  the  cross  is  heavy,  the 
wolves  are  fierce,  the  sacrifice  is  great.  It  is  a 
battle  royal  to  the  end.  This  conflict  is  not  for 
simpering  dandies:  it  takes  a  Theodore  Roose¬ 
velt.  The  citadel  suffers  violence  and  the  violent 
take  it  by  force.  In  a  word,  discipleship  is  a 
difficult  and  a  daring  thing. 

“  If  I  find  Him  if  I  follow, 

What  His  guerdon  here? 

Many  a  sorrow,  many  a  labour, 

Many  a  tear.” 

The  familiar  story  of  the  rich  young  ruler  is 
one  of  many  illustrations.  One  is  almost  startled 
at  the  uncompromising  attitude  taken.  Here 
was  a  rich  young  man,  clean,  wholesome,  manly. 
He  had  great  possessions  and  to  crown  all  the 
Master  loved  him.  Surely  he  must  have  been  a 
most  lovable  fellow  when  it  is  expressly  stated 
that  the  Master  loved  him.  Will  it  not  be  politic 
to  enlist  such  an  influential  recruit?  Would  it 
not  be  tactful  to  strain  matters  a  bit  and  make 
room  for  such  a  desirable  prize?  Think  what  a 
sort  of  Gibraltar  his  name  would  be  to  the  new 
movement.  But  not  so.  He  is  confronted  with 
the  most  drastic  conditions  and  the  young  man 
turned  away  sorrowful.  On  another  occasion 
three  men  heard  Him  speak,  and  so  moved  were 


tRainfeows  in  tbe  flDornino  75 


they  that  they  resolved  to  join  His  order.  To 
the  first  He  said,  “I  have  not  where  to  lay  my 
head.”  To  the  second  He  said,  4 ‘Let  the  dead 
bury  their  dead.”  To  the  third,  “Never  mind 
saying  good-bye  to  your  friends,  come  and  follow 
me.” 

Yes,  the  gate  to  His  Kingdom  is  narrow,  but 
then  is  not  the  gate  to  every  kingdom,  save  the 
kingdom  of  darkness,  narrow?  In  the  whole 
wide  realm  of  culture  where  are  the  wide  gates? 
The  kingdom  of  learning !  What  a  narrow  door 
it  is !  And  it  is  never  left  open.  Did  not  Daniel 
Webster  say,  “I  have  worked  more  than  twelve 
hours  a  day  for  fifty  years.”  The  kingdom  of 
art !  Think  you  that  door  is  wide  ?  Read  the  life 
of  Solon  Borglum  and  be  disabused.  Did  not 
Ruskin  say,  “To  colour  well  requires  your  life, 
it  cannot  be  done  cheaper.”  The  kingdom  of 
letters!  Maybe  you  reckon  that  door  is  easy. 
If  so,  I  would  recommend  that  you  read  Carlyle’s 
preface  to  his  “French  Revolution,”  and  ponder 
this  confession,  “This  has  been  the  perspiration 
of  my  very  heart.”  Where  are  the  kingdoms,  I 
insist,  whose  gates  are  wide  and  free  and  easy  of 
access?  The  old  Greek  apiarist  thought  to  save 
his  bees  exertion.  So  he  cut  their  wings  and 
gathered  flowers  for  them  to  work  upon  at  home, 
only  to  learn  that  such  bees  make  no  honey. 
Nothing  anywhere  without  agony  and  strain. 
Surely  if  the  road  to  music  is  lined  with  thorns 


76 


IRainbows  in  t be  /iDornina 


it  cannot  be  possible  that  the  road  to  character 
is  carpeted  with  flowers. 

One  of  my  own  favourite  heroes  is  Epictetus. 
Who  does  not  admire  the  old  man  as  he  says  to 
his  tyrant,  “You  would  cripple  me,  would  you? 
You  would  break  my  arm,  would  you?  You 
would  cut  out  my  tongue,  would  you  ?  Then  cut 
it  out;  you  cannot  touch  me.’ 7  Surely  what  we 
need  is  more  of  this  mettle  in  the  Church.  There 
are  many  who  feel  that  one  trouble  with  the 
Church  to-day  is  that  we  are  not  making  the 
appeal  sufficiently  heroic.  Our  religion  is  too 
much  simply  a  matter  of  dull  respectable  con¬ 
ventionality.  How  children  love  books  of  adven¬ 
ture!  We  are  always  talking  about  the  moral 
equivalents  of  war.  What  are  those  moral 
equivalents?  Are  there  any  such  equivalents? 
One  reason  why  war  in  spite  of  all  its  hor¬ 
rors  still  survives,  is  no  doubt  because  the 
human  heart  loves  a  hero.  High  ideals  never 
seem  so  high  as  when  men  are  willing  to  die  for 
them.  Offer  a  strong,  healthy,  young  chap  ease 
and  he  will  shake  his  head  and  turn  away.  But 
point  out  to  him  a  perilous  adventure  and  his 
imagination  is  fired.  Even  the  sports  that  in¬ 
volve  some  risk  are  the  popular  sports  to-day. 
Perhaps  what  the  Church  needs  just  now  more 
than  anything  else  is  persecution.  We  are  not 
appealing  sufficiently  to  the  heroic  in  men. 
Christianity  has  always  been  popular  when  it 


IRainbows  in  the  flDotning 


77 


has  meant  that  one  might  be  put  to  death  for  his 
faith.  What  was  it  made  the  call  of  the  snow  so 
clear  and  compelling  to  Captain  Scott?  It  was 
the  romance  of  hardship,  was  it  not?  Instance 
the  late  Sir  Ernest  Shackleton.  He  proposed  a 
dash  across  the  Antarctic  continent  and  this  is 
how  his  proposal  was  received.  Let  us  quote  his 
own  words:  “l  was  deluged  with  applications. 
One  would  have  thought  that  a  march  over  snow 
and  ice  for  more  than  two  thousand  miles  was 
the  dizziest  climax  of  human  happiness.”  And 
then  he  goes  on  to  tell  us  how  millionaires  and 
titled  lords  offered  to  wash  dishes  and  scrub 
decks  if  he  would  only  take  them.  Naval  men 
volunteered  to  resign  their  commissions  if  they 
might  only  be  included  in  the  great  “  polar 
party.”  The  London  office  of  the  expedition 
was  fairly  mobbed  by  young  lads  eager  for  the 
adventure.  Even  schoolboys  tried  to  pass  them¬ 
selves  off  as  older  than  their  years.  Why,  one’s 
blood  tingles  when  one  reads  the  full  story  of 
the  preparations  for  the  start  of  this  daring  navi¬ 
gator.  One  cannot  well  help  recalling  the  fa¬ 
miliar  words  of  Garibaldi:  “Soldiers,”  said  the 
great  captain,  “soldiers!  What  I  have  to  offer 
you  is  fatigue,  danger,  struggle  and  death;  the 
chill  of  the  cold  night  in  the  open  air,  and  heat 
under  the  burning  sun ;  no  lodges,  no  munitions, 
no  provisions,  but  forced  marches,  dangerous 
watch-posts,  and  the  continual  struggle  with  the 


78 


tRambows  in  tbe  /iBorning 


bayonet  against  batteries.  Those  who  love  free¬ 
dom  and  country,  follow  me.” 

Some  months  ago  a  brave  fireman  lost  his  life 
fighting  a  fire  here  in  our  city.  The  chief  of  the 
Fire  Department  in  commenting  on  his  death 
used  these  words :  1  ‘  Firemen  have  been  killed  in 
this  city  before,  and  firemen  are  being  killed  in 
this  city  right  along.  The  fact  is,  fighting  fire 
in  New  York  is  a  dangerous,  hazardous  business. 
Now  every  man  in  this  department  knows  that. 
He  knew  it  before  he  joined  the  department. 
Consequently,  when  he  joined  this  department 
his  act  of  bravery  was  already  achieved.  Any¬ 
thing  that  follows,  even  death,  is  just  in  the 
line  of  the  day’s  work.  This  man  did  not  go  in 
there  intending  to  die.  He  went  in  to  put 
the  fire  out — and  he  died  and  that  is  all  there 
is  to  it.”  What  a  splendid  description  of  the 
Christian  life !  To  be  a  soldier  is  always  a  strenu¬ 
ous  task.  And  anything  that  follows  is  just  in 
line  with  the  day’s  work. 

The  world  paints  its  rainbows  in  the  morning. 
It  gives  its  best  wine  at  the  start.  Eevivals  are 
not  needed  to  secure  volunteers  for  the  broad 
highway.  No  urging  is  needed  for  that  unholy 
crusade.  The  gate  is  wide  and  open  and  dazzling 
and  alluring.  Drunkenness  begins  in  the  social 
hour,  the  happy  comradeship.  The  clusters  are 
sweet.  At  first  the  wine  is  red,  it  adds  its  colour 
even  to  the  cup.  I  think  it  is  the  simplest  and 


IRainbows  in  the  /JDorntmj 


79 


sheerest  folly  to  pretend  that  there  are  no  fasci¬ 
nations  in  a  voluptuous  career.  There  are  many 
fascinations.  There  is  a  wild  delight  in  the  mad 
unbridled  swing  of  human  passion.  The  whole 
Saturnalia  is  tremendously  fascinating. 

“  The  graybeard,  Old  Wisdom,  may  boast  of  his  treas¬ 
ures, 

Give  me  with  gay  Folly  to  live ; 

I  grant  him  his  calm-blooded,  time-settled  pleasures, 
But  Folly  has  raptures  to  give.” 

Tremendously  fascinating,  but  its  fascinations 
are  all  in  the  morning.  Toward  evening  the 
colours  fade ;  soon  they  fade  away.  The  draught 
gets  insipid  to  the  taste,  then  flat,  then  bitter. 
And  in  the  end  it  bites,  bites  like  a  serpent  and 
stings  like  an  adder. 


vm 

RAINBOWS  AT  NIGHT 


HERE  are  three  or  four  pictures 
flung  on  the  Bible  canvas  that 
for  sheer  emotion  stand  out  in 
literature  unrivalled.  One  is 
the  beautiful  story  of  Ruth  and 
Naomi.  Another  is  David’s 
elegy  over  Absalom.  Who  can  read  this  immor¬ 
tal  lament  for  the  first  time,  or  for  that  matter 
the  hundred  and  first,  without  his  pulse  beating 
faster?  Still  another  is  the  exposure  where 
Joseph  makes  himself  known  to  his  brethren. 
But  perhaps  one  of  the  most  genuinely  affecting 
in  the  whole  record  is  that  scene  in  which  the 
Apostle  is  bidding  good-bye  to  the  elders  at 
Ephesus.  The  great  leader  is  completing  his 
labours.  He  is  within  hail  of  the  end.  He  is 
calling  them  to  witness  that  he  has  kept  back 
nothing  that  was  profitable.  He  looks  back  on 
his  ministry  with  conscious  and  confident  ap¬ 
proval,  and  then  glances  forward  to  the  hills 
which  his  feet  were  soon  to  tread.  He  is  not 
sure  just  what  dark  waters  he  may  yet  have  to 
cross  before  he  scales  those  shining  peaks.  But 
that  matters  not;  that  is  not  material.  He  is 

80 


IRatnbows  at  Biabt 


81 


prepared  for  the  worst  if  the  worst  is  to  be  his. 
He  reminds  one  of  that  seal  adopted  by  one  of 
our  Missionary  Boards,  in  which  an  ox  is  de¬ 
picted  standing  meekly  between  a  plow  and  an 
altar,  while  underneath  are  the  words,  “Beady 
for  either.”  The  Apostle  is  ready  for  either. 
He  would  like  to  go  and  he  would  like  to  stay. 
He  cannot  decide  which  is  preferable.  The  only 
thing  that  causes  him  anxiety  is  that  he  might 
be  certain  of  finishing  his  course  with  joy,  and 
of  going  out  and  up  with  flying  colours. 

There  is  a  story  by  a  living  novelist.  It  is 
the  story  of  a  young  Englishman  who  was  start¬ 
ing  out  on  a  political  career.  He  was  gifted  and 
clever  but  lacking  in  the  backbone  of  a  strong 
conviction.  One  day  he  is  talking  over  his  plans 
with  his  fiancee.  She  has  a  higher  and  a  nobler 
outlook  on  life  than  her  lover,  and  in  the  course 
of  her  conversation  she  drops  the  remark,  “It 
seems  to  me  that  no  work  is  really  worth  doing 
at  all  except  the  work  which  has  a  beautiful  rain- 
bow-dream  at  its  heart/ ’  This  quiet  observa¬ 
tion  describes  the  Apostle  exactly.  He  had  a 
beautiful  rainbow-dream  in  his  heart,  a  dream  of 
splendour.  For  this  dream  he  sacrificed  all 
things.  For  this  dream  he  lived  and  laboured. 
Nothing  else  counted;  nothing  else  mattered. 
And  the  dream  was  the  joy  set  before  him.  The 
joy  of  being  able  to  say  at  the  close  that  he  had 
never  flinched,  that  he  had  been  true  to  the  great 


82 


IRainbows  at  IFUgbt 


passion  of  his  ministry.  “For  none  of  these 
things  move  me,  neither  count  I  my  life  dear 
unto  me ;  indeed  I  set  no  value  at  all  on  my  life 
as  compared  with  the  joy  of  finishing  my 
course.  ’  ’ 

To  be  sure  the  Apostle  does  not  mean  to  in¬ 
timate  that  he  expected  to  finish  his  work.  Be¬ 
cause  no  one  ever  does  that.  It  matters  not  how 
successful  the  career,  unfinished  must  always  be 
written  across  its  pages.  No  true  man  ever  at¬ 
tains  to  more  than  a  small  part  of  what  he  aims 
at.  Night  always  falls  before  one  gets  the  final 
touches  on.  Thorwaldsen  began  his  greatest 
group  but  he  never  finished  it.  Matthew  Henry 
worked  for  years  on  his  commentary  but  he  only 
got  as  far  as  the  book  of  Acts.  Charles  Dickens 
is  busy  with  Edwin  Drood.  It  was  to  have  been 
given  to  the  printer  in  twelve  monthly  parts, 
but  only  six  were  contributed  when  the  summons 
came.  Henry  Buckle  writes  his  great  work  ‘  ‘  The 
History  of  Civilization.”  He  published  the  first 
volume  and  then  goes  travelling  to  gather  ma¬ 
terial  for  the  second.  He  is  seized  with  fever  in 
the  Holy  Land  and  dies  at  Damascus,  talking  all 
the  time  in  his  delirium  about  his  almost  com¬ 
pleted  monumental  work.  “Oh,  my  book,  my 
book.  I  shall  never  finish  my  book.”  We  draw 
the  plans  and  specifications  and  make  the  blue¬ 
prints  perhaps,  and  sometimes  we  see  construc¬ 
tion  started,  but  as  a  rule  some  one  else  steps 


tRainbows  at  IRigbt  83 


in  to  top  off  the  structure.  Moses  was  not  per¬ 
mitted  to  enter  the  promised  land.  Livingstone 
died  with  the  great  dream  of  his  heart  unreal¬ 
ized,  the  open  sore  of  the  world  unhealed.  Hud¬ 
son  Taylor  only  had  time  to  pluck  a  few  jewels 
from  the  great  shore  of  human  wreckage.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  one  of  the  bravest  soldiers  that 
ever  buckled  on  armour  and  the  closing  chapter 
of  his  life  is  most  pathetic.  He  had  been  ill  but 
was  recovering,  and  during  his  convalescence  he 
had  marked  out  for  himself  a  great  program. 
4  4  Take  me  to  my  room  and  fetch  the  keys  of  my 
desk,  ’  ’  he  said  to  his  daughter  one  morning.  The 
daughter  went  into  the  study  and  arranged  his 
desk,  wheeling  him  later  in  his  chair  to  the  old 
familiar  spot  where  Waverley  had  been  written. 
4  4  Now  give  me  my  pen,  and  leave  me  here  for  a 
little  to  myself. ’  9  His  daughter  put  the  pen  into 
his  hand,  and  he  endeavoured  to  close  his  fingers 
on  it,  but  they  refused  their  office.  It  dropped 
on  the  paper.  He  sank  back  upon  his  pillows, 
silent  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks.  But  com¬ 
posing  himself,  by  and  by,  he  was  taken  out  of 
doors,  where  he  dropped  into  slumber.  When 
he  was  awakening  Laidlaw  said  to  him,  4  4  Sir 
Walter  has  had  a  little  repose.”  The  tears  again 
rushed  to  his  eyes.  4 4 Friends,”  said  he,  4 4 don’t 
let  me  expose  myself.  Get  me  to  bed.  That’s 
the  only  place.” 

So  let  us  repeat  it  over  and  over  and  keep  on 


54 


IRatttbows  at  Wgbt 


repeating:  nothing  down  here  is  ever  finished. 
It  is  a  world  of  rudiments  and  first  sketches. 
Even  the  world  itself  is  never  finished.  The 
rocks,  the  trees,  the  caves,  the  canons,  how  lack¬ 
ing  they  all  are  in  what  the  artist  calls  finish. 
Did  you  say  the  mountain  is  finished  ?  Why,  its 
very  shape  is  being  altered  every  passing  year. 
Did  you  say  the  prairie  is  finished  ?  It  is  not  so 
very  long  ago  that  the  site  of  our  vast  city  was 
a  pasture  field.  Up  yonder  was  a  grove  of  trees, 
with  birds  singing  in  the  branches.  Then  came 
the  axe  of  the  woodman  and  then  the  plow  of 
the  farmer  and  the  saw  of  the  carpenter  and 
then  the  cottage  and  then  the  store  and  then  the 
skyscraper.  Truly  we  live  in  an  unfinished 
world.  The  old  idea  that  the  Creator  flung  out 
this  mighty  cosmos  in  perfect  form  and  then  re¬ 
tired  forever,  is  dismissed  to-day  as  idle  stuff. 
With  a  wider  knowledge  has  come  a  more  rea¬ 
sonable  view.  The  world  is  never  finished;  it  is 
in  process  of  evolution.  The  statement  that  man 
was  made  in  the  divine  likeness  is  prophecy  not 
history.  God  made  the  world  and  He  is  toiling 
still  at  the  task.  Some  one  has  said  that  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  if  the  first  verse  of  Genesis 
had  been  separated  from  the  other  verses  and 
labelled  Chapter  I,  so  leaving  enough  millions 
of  years  between  the  first  verse  and  the  second 
to  satisfy  any  Fundamentalist  or  Modernist. 
As  Joaquin  Miller  says  in  his  poem  on  Alaska: 


IRainbows  at  iRtgbt 


85 


“  Hear  the  avalanche  hurled 
Down  this  unfinished  world.” 

But  if  our  work  is  never  finished,  our  course 
is.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  word 
finish  has  two  meanings.  There  is  a  vast  differ¬ 
ence  between  perfecting  a  task  and  getting  to  the 
end  of  it.  Many  are  getting  to  the  end  of  the 
march.  To  some  the  roar  of  the  ocean  is  already 
distinct.  They  can  hear  the  sound  of  the  break¬ 
ers.  A  great  agnostic  recently  remarked,  “This 
world  seems  to  be  a  very  good  place  if  it  would 
only  last.”  What  a  bitter-sweet  sort  of  sen¬ 
tence  that  is!  “If  it  would  only  last!”  As  rare 
Samuel  Rutherford  puts  it,  ‘  ‘  Build  your  nest  on 
no  tree  in  this  world ;  the  whole  forest  has  been 
sold  over  to  death.”  Death  is  the  merciless 
mortgagee  who  eventually  forecloses  on  us  all. 

But  to  get  to  the  end  of  the  long  struggle 
triumphantly!  To  look  back  with  satisfaction 
and  then  forward  with  hope.  To  near  the 
goal  in  the  spirit  of  rejoicing!  To  see  rain¬ 
bows  at  night!  Rainbows  in  the  morning  are 
beautiful  but  nothing  like  rainbows  at  night. 
Paul  was  a  happy  pilgrim,  and  his  happiness  in¬ 
creased  as  he  neared  the  goal.  His  letter  to  the 
Philippians,  written  within  sight  of  the  end,  is 
a  perfect  burst  of  gladness;  in  its  four  short 
chapters  he  uses  the  word  joy  sixteen  times. 
This  is  one  reason  for  the  charm  of  George  Fred¬ 
erick  Watts.  He  is  a  prophet  of  joy  and  hope 


86 


IRainbows  at  IRigbt 


in  the  eventide.  The  artists  usually  portray 
Time  as  an  old  man,  tired  and  decrepit  and 
sinking  into  senility  and  decay.  But  in  Watts’ 
great  picture,  Time  is  represented  as  a  youth 
of  energy  and  dash  and  vigour.  His  hair  is 
blown  back  from  his  face,  his  eyes  are  glitter¬ 
ing  with  gladness,  he  has  a  banner  in  his  hand, 
and  he  is  looking  out  across  the  fields  in  the 
morning  of  life.  The  picture  is  characteristic 
and  it  is  true.  Time  ought  never  to  be  old. 
Time  is  young  and  strong  and  charged  with 
vitality. 

In  his  address  recently  delivered  before  St. 
Andrew’s  University  Sir  James  Barrie  read  a 
letter  which  he  had  received  from  Captain  Scott 
shortly  before  he  died.  The  letter  was  written 
in  the  Antarctic  tent  where  his  body  and  those 
of  his  gallant  comrades  were  latterly  found.  It 
begins:  “We  are  pegging  out  in  a  very  comfort¬ 
less  spot.  Hoping  this  letter  may  be  found  and 
sent  to  you,  I  write  you  a  word  of  farewell.  I 
want  you  to  think  well  of  me  and  of  my  end. 
Good-bye — I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  the  end  but 
sad  to  miss  many  a  simple  pleasure  which  I  had 
planned  for  the  future  in  our  long  marches. 
We  are  in  a  desperate  state — feet  frozen,  no 
fuel  and  a  long  way  from  food,  but  it  would  do 
your  heart  good  to  be  in  our  tent,  to  hear  our 
songs  and  our  cheery  conversation.  We  are  very 
near  the  end.  We  did  intend  to  finish  ourselves 


IRainbows  at  IRiQbt 


87 


when  things  proved  like  this,  but  we  have  de¬ 
cided  to  die  naturally  without.”  There  is  at 
least  one  immortal  sentence  in  that  letter,  “  Their 
songs  and  cheery  conversation.”  The  story  is  a 
great  one:  it  stirs  the  blood,  it  gives  the  spinal 
chill.  But  it  is  not  one  whit  greater  than  many 
another. 

Here  is  Henry  Drummond.  His  was  a  very 
notable  and  a  very  wonderful  career.  He  was 
one  of  the  real  heroes  of  the  century.  He  died 
when  he  was  only  forty-six.  His  story  has  been 
given  to  us  by  his  college  classmate  and  life¬ 
long  friend  George  Adam  Smith.  In  this  tender 
and  touching  tribute  Sir  George  shows  us  what 
a  record  of  toil  and  labour  and  sacrifice  it  was, 
how  he  gave  himself  unsparingly  to  the  cause  of 
truth  and  human  betterment.  Then  he  relates 
the  lingering  years  of  suffering,  how  with  shat¬ 
tered  nerves  and  whitened  hair  he  met  the  in¬ 
evitable.  He  knew  the  end  was  not  far  off.  He 
knew  his  race  was  nearly  run.  He  was  bidding 
good-bye  to  a  world  in  which  he  had  played  a 
star  part.  He  was  leaving  a  host  of  friends  who 
loved  him.  He  suffered  excruciating  pain,  but 
all  through  those  months  of  torture  he  kept  his 
smile  and  his  cheerfulness  and  his  love  of  fun 
and  his  simple  trust,  and  at  last  passed  on  into 
the  silence  with  a  Jubilate  on  his  lips.  Isn’t  that 
great,  too?  Really  is  the  Antarctic  tale  any 
greater? 


88 


IRainbows  at  Wgbt 


The  Apostle  himself  is  our  shining  example. 
He  wished  to  die  in  the  harness,  with  the  tide 
high  and  full  and  peaceful.  He  wished  no  moan¬ 
ing  of  the  bar  when  he  put  out  to  sea.  One 
cannot  but  feel  that  it  is  the  ideal  way  to  answer 
the  call.  For  after  all,  the  greatest  joy  that  one 
can  find  is  the  joy  that  comes  from  the  exercise 
of  our  full  powers  in  doing  faithful,  honest,  lov¬ 
ing  work.  There  is  a  book  called  ‘  ‘  Little  Ann,  ’  ’ 
and  in  it  there  is  a  story  of  a  miller.  All  his  life 
long  he  had  been  just  a  miller  and  his  home  was 
close  to  the  dam.  When  the  call  came,  they 
stopped  the  mill  lest  the  noise  might  disturb 
him.  But  in  the  morning  he  was  restless.  He 
could  not  speak,  but  he  kept  pointing  to  the  dam. 
They  were  puzzled  to  know  what  he  meant, 
until  one  of  the  workmen  turned  on  the  flume, 
and  started  the  great  wheel  again  with  its  creak¬ 
ing  machinery.  Then  the  old  miller  turned  over 
and  fell  asleep.  There  is  a  lesson  in  that  for 
us.  The  lesson  is  to  find  joy  in  our  work,  to 
find  the  music  of  life  in  the  mill  wheel.  The 
great  thing  is  to  sing  doing  one’s  daily  task.  I 
recall  the  story  of  a  soldier  boy  who  was 
wounded.  When  they  carried  him  into  the  hos¬ 
pital  he  was  whistling  a  song.  The  nurse  said 
to  him,  “  I  guess  the  pain  is  much  better,  isn’t 
it?”  “No,”  he  answered,  “but  I  cannot  stand 
it  any  other  way.”  I  like  to  read  the  life  of 
Cowper.  When  he  was  an  old  man  and  knew 


IRainbows  at  IFUgbt 


89 


liis  time  was  short,  he  asked  one  day  to  be  car¬ 
ried  into  his  library.  There  he  went  from  shelf 
to  shelf,  taking  down  some  of  the  old  favourite 
authors  and  saying  good-bye  to  them.  He  picked 
up  his  Milton  and  his  Addison  and  his  Sophocles 
and  glanced  through  them,  and  then  putting 
them  back  in  their  places,  he  whispered,  “Good¬ 
bye,  old  friends,  you  have  been  wise  teachers  to 
me. 5  ’ 

A  traveller  in  Japan  paused  before  a  worker 
in  ivory  and  watched  him  carve  an  exquisite 
figure.  “Are  you  not  sorry  to  part  with  this 
when  it’s  finished V9  he  asked.  “No,  I  expect 
the  next  will  be  better/ 9  came  the  answer. 
George  Matheson  says  that  every  schoolboy 
studies  his  lessons  not  in  the  light  of  the  lamp 
but  in  the  light  of  the  coming  holiday.  He 
means  that  we  live  by  our  expectations. 

“  I  wish  there  were  some  wonderful  place 
Called  the  Land  of  Beginning  Again, 

Where  all  our  mistakes  and  all  our  heartaches, 

And  all  of  our  selfish  grief, 

Could  be  dropped  like  a  shabby  old  coat  at  the  door, 
And  never  put  on  again. 

“I  wish  we  could  come  on  it  all  unaware, 

Like  the  hunter  who  finds  a  lost  trail ; 

I  wish  that  the  one  whom  our  blindness  had  done 
The  greatest  injustice  of  all 

Could  be  at  the  gates  like  an  old  friend  that  waits 
For  the  comrade  he’s  gladdest  to  hail. 

“  We  could  find  all  the  things  we  intended  to  do 
But  forgot  and  remembered — too  late : 

Little  praises  unspoken,  little  promises  broken, 


90  IRatnbows  at  IRigbt 


And  all  of  the  thousand  and  one 

Little  duties  neglected  that  might  have  perfected 

The  day  for  one  less  fortunate. 

“  It  couldn’t  be  possible  not  to  be  kind 
In  the  Land  of  Beginning  Again, 

And  the  ones  we  misjudged  and  the  ones  whom 
we  grudged 

Their  moments  of  victory  here 

Would  find  in  the  grasp  of  our  loving  clasp 

More  than  penitent  lips  could  explain. 

“For  what  had  been  hardest  we’d  know  has  been 
best, 

And  what  had  seemed  loss  would  be  gainj^ 

For  there  isn’t  a  sting  that  will  not  take  wing 
When  we’ve  freed  it  and  laughed  it  away; 

And  I  think  that  the  laughter  is  most  what  we’re 
after, 

In  the  Land  of  Beginning  Again. 

“  So  I  wish  that  there  were  some  wonderful  place 
Called  the  Land  of  Beginning  Again, 

Where  all  our  mistakes  and  all  our  heartaches, 

And  all  our  poor  selfish  grief 

Could  be  dropped  like  a  shabby  old  coat  at  the  door 

And  never  put  on  again.” 


DC 

THE  DEVIL  OF  FEAR 


HERE  is  a  command  in  the  Old 
Version  of  the  Good  Book  that 
bids  us  “take  no  thought  for 
the  morrow/  ’  but  when  we  get 
down  to  real  business  it  turns 
out  to  be  a  very  puzzling  piece 
of  advice.  Because  we  see  all  about  us  that  the 
people  who  follow  this  injunction  are  nearly  al¬ 
ways  no  good.  They’re  triflers,  loafers,  drones, 
every  one  of  them.  The  savage  of  the  South 
Seas  sitting  under  his  banana  tree  smoking  his 
gagroot  may  follow  this  direction,  but  it  cer¬ 
tainly  is  not  the  sign-board  for  earnest,  serious 
men.  No  wise  husband  would  advise  such  a 
policy,  no  insurance  company  would  recommend 
it,  no  business  corporation  would  act  upon  it,  no 
statesman  would  incorporate  it  into  his  platform, 
no  chancellor  into  his  budget.  No  admiral  or 
general  would  consider  it  seriously  for  one  little 
moment  in  his  plan  of  naval  or  military  strategy. 
The  very  glory  of  our  civilization  is  in  taking 
thought,  taking  thought  for  to-morrow,  taking 
thought  for  all  the  to-morrows,  taking  thought 
for  the  time  when  there  will  be  no  to-morrow. 

91 


92 


Ube  H>evil  of  JFear 


Because  eternity  is  timeless  and  to-morrowless 
and  we  are  to  take  ceaseless  thought  for  that. 
The  secret  of  all  successful  men  belies  any  such 
foolish  counsel.  Think  of  Bancroft  spending  six 
and  twenty  years  on  his  history.  Think  of  Gib¬ 
bon  putting  a  full  score  of  years  into  his  4 ‘De¬ 
cline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.”  Witness 
Titian  giving  seven  long  years  to  his  Last  Sup¬ 
per!  Or  Leonardo  toiling  for  four  years  on  the 
head  of  Mona  Lisa.  Or  instance  George  Eliot 
reading  a  thousand  volumes  before  she  finished 
Daniel  Deronda.  Taking  thought  has  done  all 
these  things,  taking  very  strenuous  thought,  tak¬ 
ing  very  laborious  thought.  The  man  who  takes 
no  thought  is  not  only  an  idler,  he  is  a  down¬ 
right  sinner.  Some  one  has  said  that  the  world’s 
failure  to-day  is  more  intellectual  than  moral, 
meaning  thereby  that  evil  is  wrought  more  by 
want  of  thought  than  by  want  of  heart. 
Thoughtlessness  is  one  of  the  classic  sins  of  the 
age. 

Of  course  the  command  is  simple  as  rain  on 
cherry  blossoms  when  we  read  it  right.  It  means 
that  we  are  to  take  no  anxious  thought,  and,  as 
Kipling  says,  that  is  another  story.  “Take  no 
anxious  thought  for  to-morrow.”  To-morrow 
will  bring  its  own  anxieties,  so  do  not  anticipate 
them.  Sufficient  for  each  day  are  its  own  dis¬ 
tracting  cares.  Do  not  overload  to-day  with  the 
burdens  of  to-morrow.  To-morrow  will  bring  its 


Zhc  Bevnl  of  feat 


93 


own  weary  load.  Do  you  recall  the  story  of  the 
Royal  George f  She  was  a  great  battleship  but 
she  turned  turtle  in  the  harbour  at  Spithead  and 
went  down  with  her  commander  and  eight  hun¬ 
dred  of  her  crew.  And  the  tragedy  was  caused 
by  the  shifting  of  her  guns.  Too  much  weight 
was  put  on  her  port  side,  and  over  went  this 
splendid  man-of-war.  It  is  a  symbol  of  many  a 
wreckage  in  life.  Too  much  weight  at  one  point 
has  toppled  over  many  a  noble  craft. 

I  doubt  if  there  is  a  sin  in  the  decalogue  as 
common  as  worry.  Some  one  insists  that  worry 
has  slain  more  victims  than  war;  another  says 
more  even  than  disease.  We  all  try  to  avoid 
wrinkles  on  the  body,  but  how  many  of  us  have 
deep  ugly  creases  on  our  souls.  Sometimes  I  say 
to  my  child,  “My  dear,  don’t  frown.  Every  time 
you  frown  it  leaves  behind  a  little  wrinkle.” 
But  we  need  to  be  reminded  that  the  soul  can 
frown  too.  What  are  some  of  the  things  that 
cause  the  soul  to  frown  ? 

Well,  there  is  covetousness.  Men  are  covetous. 
ITow  many  have  the  frown  of  covetousness  on 
their  faces !  Covetousness  is  an  inordinate  desire 
to  obtain  and  possess  things.  There  is  a  passion 
in  the  most  of  us  to  pile  up  a  great  mass  of 
worldly  stuff,  and  as  a  rule  the  only  thing  it 
brings  is  anxiety.  It  never  brings  peace  of 
mind;  it  almost  invariably  brings  the  opposite. 
It  never  contributes  to  the  real  secret  of  life. 


94 


TEbe  Devil  of  jfeav 


“Take  heed  and  beware  of  covetousness, ’ ’  says 
the  Master,  “for  a  man’s  life  consisteth  not  in 
the  abundance  of  the  things  which  he  possess- 
eth.”  Mr.  Hornaday  tells  us  in  his  recent  book 
“The  Minds  and  Manners  of  Wild  Animals,” 
that  the  beavers  out  here  in  the  park,  although 
they  are  fed  every  day  and  have  nothing  to  fear 
as  far  as  hunger  is  concerned,  yet  the  instinct  of 
winter  storage  is  so  strong  in  them  that  they  will 
take  half  their  food  allowance  and  hide  it  away 
in  some  little  corner  of  their  winter  habitation. 
It  is  a  good  deal  like  that  with  us.  We  have 
such  a  tenacious  and  deep-seated  conviction  that 
it  is  the  things  that  are  material  that  are  the 
worth-while  things ;  the  moral  and  spiritual 
values  are  secondary;  the  claims  of  the  body 
stand  first.  And  so  it  happens  that  a  life  based 
on  this  belief  tends  to  covetousness  and  avarice 
and  grasping  bodily  indulgence.  Of  course  it 
follows  that  such  a  life  is  the  slave  of  anxiety 
and  solicitude  and  carping  care.  “The  honey, 
alas,  does  not  always  pay  for  the  sting.” 

It  isn’t  wrong  to  take  thought,  let  us  insist. 
The  whole  point  is,  what  are  we  to  take  thought 
about?  Take  thought  about  your  work:  take 
thought  about  your  ways:  take  thought  about 
your  good  name :  take  thought  about  doing  your 
duty.  But  take  no  thought  about  your  life. 
Your  life  is  God’s  business.  He  will  attend  to 
that.  Take  thought  about  the  doing  well  of  your 


Ebe  Devil  of  feat 


95 


daily  task,  about  fulfilling  the  will  of  your  Fa¬ 
ther.  God  will  feed  you  and  clothe  you  and 
protect  you.  You  need  have  no  worry  along 
that  line.  He  will  provide.  If  you  doubt  that 
you  doubt  Him. 

Then  there  is  Fear .  How  many  have  made 
themselves  positively  ugly  with  the  frown  of 
Fear!  And  what  a  really  dreadful  thing  is 
fear.  Tell  me  what  a  man  fears  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  he  is.  Fear  is  the  master  enemy  of  the 
soul.  There  is  no  devil  like  the  devil  of  Fear. 
And  what  multitudes  are  ruled  by  this  tyrant! 
Galsworthy  in  one  of  his  dramas  says :  4  4  Perhaps 
the  greater  part  of  the  misery  of  the  human  race 
comes  not  from  the  actual  presence  of  trouble, 
but  from  the  dread  of  it.”  What  a  world  this 
would  be  if  fear  were  driven  out  of  it !  Fear  is 
one  of  the  basest  passions  of  the  human  soul. 
The  greatest  weakness  in  most  lives  is  fear. 
When  a  man  is  fearful  his  gift  of  reasoning  is 
clouded,  his  nerve  is  unsteady,  his  vision  is  ob¬ 
scured  ;  he  loses  all  power  of  sober  and  sane  and 
quick  decision.  Fear,  furthermore,  predisposes  to 
the  very  danger  we  are  trying  to  avoid.  The 
fear  of  a  thing  is  not  infrequently  the  cause  of 
it.  The  man  who  is  afraid  of  catching  cold  is 
usually  the  first  man  to  catch  cold.  And  un¬ 
fortunately  the  alarmist  is  always  with  us  to 
sound  the  signal  and  start  the  stampede.  He  is 
always  nosing  danger.  He  is  always  piling  up 


96 


XTbe  £>e\>U  ot  JFear 


mountains.  He  is  always  anticipating  trouble. 
“The  tomato  causes  cancer,  the  daffodil  spreads 
influenza,  flowers  should  not  be  permitted  in  the 
sick  room.  There  is  peril  even  in  the  com¬ 
munion  cup.’7  William  James  says,  “If  you  are 
walking  through  a  forest  and  get  afraid  and  start 
to  run,  every  tree  will  run  after  you,  but  if  you 
stand  and  hold  your  ground  every  tree  will  be¬ 
come  your  friend. 7  7  George  Herbert  in  his  fasci¬ 
nating  volume  “The  Country  Parson77  has  the 
same  wdiolesome  bit  of  advice.  “If  you  are  go¬ 
ing  through  a  cemetery,77  he  says,  “and  think 
you  see  a  ghost,  go  right  up  and  speak  to  it. 
You  will  likely  find  that  instead  of  being  a  ghost 
it  is  nothing  but  a  sheet  hung  out  to  dry.77  Or 
as  a  friend  of  mine  learned  when  he  found  him¬ 
self  in  a  similar  plight,  and  boldly  turned  round 
and  faced  the  fearful  thing,  it  was  nothing  but 
a  white  cow  lying  down  and  ruminating. 

The  great  trouble  with  fear  is  that  it  destroys 
calm  and  sober  thinking.  When  a  man  fears  he 
is  more  or  less  panicky.  And  when  one  is  pan¬ 
icky  he  is  almost  certain  to  do  something  foolish. 
There  is  an  expression  in  golf  called  pressing. 
It  means  that  the  player  is  trying  to  force  things ; 
he  is  getting  anxious;  he  is  trying  for  distance. 
The  moment  a  golfer  begins  to  press  it7s  all  up 
with  him.  Some  one  remarks  that  in  all  de¬ 
partments  of  life  we  should  learn  not  to  press. 
Pressing  is  always  fatal.  It  always  lands  you  in 


Ufoe  of  jfear 


97 


a  bunker  and  life’s  links  are  full  of  bunkers. 
It  puts  you  in  a  fluster.  It  destroys  serenity 
and  calm  and  coordination  and  timing. 

How  pitifully  prevalent  to-day  is  fear !  Listen 
to  this  writer  in  a  recent  issue  of  Herbert’s 
Journal:  “The  civilized  world  at  present  seems 
to  many  of  us  to  be  living,  as  it  were,  under  a 
cloud.  Its  dominant  mood  is  that  of  unhappi¬ 
ness,  depression,  unrest.  It  is  obsessed  by 
anxieties  and  suspicions,  uncertain  of  its  hold  on 
life.  It  has  forgotten  joy.  Like  a  neurotic, 
whose  sickness  has  no  name,  and  few  definite 
symptoms  beyond  general  uneasiness  and  lack 
of  hope,  it  is  incapable  of  the  existence  which  it 
feels  to  be  wholesome  and  complete.  Impotent 
and  uncertain  of  aim,  full  of  conflicts  it  cannot 
resolve,  society  is  becoming  more  and  more 
querulous,  less  and  less  reasonable.  ’  ’  This  writer 
goes  on  to  argue  that  it  was  fear  that  caused  the 
war.  England  feared  the  military  expansion 
of  Germany.  Germany  feared  the  commercial 
supremacy  of  England.  And  this  led  on  to  in¬ 
creasing  and  ever  increasing  armaments,  piling 
up  great  monuments  of  destruction  and  torture. 
And  the  same  game  is  still  being  played.  We 
are  hearing  once  more  the  same  old  bluster  and 
brag  about  military  preeminence.  We  are  told 
it  is  a  necessary  insurance.  Mark  the  stark  cool¬ 
ness  of  the  claim.  Insurance  forsooth.  Why  in¬ 
surance?  Where  does  the  insurance  come  in? 


98 


Ube  'Devil  of  ffear 


Certainly  not  insurance  against !  For  insurance 
never  prevented  a  fire.  Insurance  aims  to  make 
good  the  loss,  that  is  all.  Insurance  never  pre¬ 
vents.  Insurance  only  restores.  When  one’s 
house  burns  down  one  realizes  what  a  wise  thing 
it  was  to  have  it  insured.  But  when  a  world 
burns  down,  who  is  going  to  make  good  that 
loss?  Insurance  never  prevented  fire.  Insur¬ 
ance  never  prevented  anything. 

The  same  game,  I  repeat,  is  still  being  played. 
Why  must  it  be?  Why  must  every  nation  keep 
on  at  the  same  old,  mad,  imbecile  business?  It 
is  fear,  is  it  not?  Every  nation  fears  its  neigh¬ 
bour  as  a  potential  foe.  Fear  breeds  suspicion. 
Fear  sees  an  enemy  in  a  rival.  Fear  begets 
envy,  ill-will,  hatred,  murder.  Fear  is  the  fore¬ 
runner  of  war.  It  may  camouflage  as  patriotism, 
but  there ’s  no  patriotism  about  it.  Beal,  genuine 
patriotism  is  afraid  of  nothing  but  injustice  and 
unrighteousness  and  wrong.  It  is  pure  and 
simple  fear. 

Then  think  of  all  the  distrust  there  is  in  our 
hearts.  After  all,  the  great  reason  for  most  of 
our  anxiety  is  because  we  lack  trust.  To-day  has 
burdens  enough  of  its  own.  Why  pile  to-morrow 
on  its  back?  Worrying  over  to-morrow  is  a 
heathenish  practice.  “  After  all  these  things  do 
the  heathen  seek.”  Once  upon  a  time  there 
lived  a  man  and  he  never  knew  what  care  meant, 
because  he  lived  a  life  of  perfect  trust.  The 


XLbc  H)evil  of  feat 


99 


true  man  labours  for  results  that  he  will 
never  see  himself.  If  he  felt  that  to-morrow 
would  fail  him,  why  the  very  nerve  of  his  spirit 
would  be  cut.  It  is  for  the  future  that  he  lives. 
Man  at  his  best  is  a  prophet,  a  seer.  He  sees 
that  which  is  invisible.  “Be  not  over-anxious 
about  worldly  things.’ ’  And  some  have  inter¬ 
preted  that  as  meaning  that  we  are  to  think  so 
much  about  heavenly  things  that  the  things  of 
earth  may  be  neglected.  But  this  is  to  entirely 
miss  the  point.  As  long  as  I  am  in  this  world 
I  am  to  exercise  whatever  little  cunning  I  may 
have  of  hand  and  brain  and  industry.  I  have 
a  family  to  support  and  a  home  to  protect.  To 
be  lax  and  loose  in  doing  my  work,  to  be  careless 
about  paying  my  debts,  to  be  slipshod  in  carry¬ 
ing  on  my  business,  is  not  to  be  honouring  God. 
Some  one  says:  “He  who  does  not  do  his  duty  in 
this  world  will  not  do  his  duty  in  any  world.” 
If  a  man  is  not  interested  in  the  city  in  which 
he  lives,  in  its  welfare,  in  its  beauty  and  cleanli¬ 
ness,  what  reason  have  we  to  expect  that  he  is 
going  to  be  greatly  interested  in  the  City  of 
God?  To  shirk  one’s  privilege  as  a  citizen  is  a 
dastardly  and  ignoble  thing.  This  is  not  what 
the  Master  means  at  all.  To  do  our  full  duty  on 
earth  is  the  very  best  preparation  possible  for 
the  heavenly  life. 

And  anyway  the  simple  fact  is,  we  ought  to 
trust  because  in  its  last  analysis,  we  have  very 


too 


Zhe  H>e\>U  of  feat 


little  to  do  with  the  greatest  things  in  onr  lives. 
The  great  things  have  all  been  decided  for  us. 
The  age  in  which  I  was  to  live,  nobody  asked  my 
wishes  about  that.  I  should  like  to  have  lived 
in  the  days  of  Pericles  and  Plato.  I  should 
like  to  have  walked  the  streets  of  Kome  in  the 
time  of  her  imposing  glory.  I  would  not  mind 
having  been  a  playmate  of  Shakespeare’s  and 
having  fished  with  him  along  the  banks  of  the 
Avon.  Who  my  father  or  mother  was  to  be, 
what  colour  I  would  select  for  my  skin,  I  was 
not  asked  about  any  of  these  things.  I  was  not 
consulted  in  regard  to  my  personal  appearance. 
If  I  had  been,  no  doubt  I,  as  Bernard  Shaw 
says,  would  have  had  some  improvements  to 
suggest.  These  things  were  all  settled  for  us. 
A  friend  once  expressed  surprise  to  C.  P.  Hunt¬ 
ington  that  he  was  able  to  accomplish  so  much. 
“You  must  work  very  hard,”  he  remarked. 
“Not  at  all,”  was  the  reply,  “I  work  easy.”  Is 
there  not  a  great  truth  there?  The  art  of  life 
is  to  find  joy  in  our  work  and  so  work  easy.  If 
our  work  becomes  hard,  it  is  because  there  is 
anxiety  and  friction.  Then  work  becomes  a 
grind.  How  smoothly  machinery  runs  when  it 
is  oiled !  There  is  no  friction  like  fear ;  there  is 
no  lubricant  like  trust.  Sometimes  we  are  asked 
the  secret  of  the  power  of  Christian  Science. 
Christian  Science  has  delivered  scores  of  people 
from  their  fears.  This  is  the  secret.  There  can 


'Sbe  2De\nl  of  ffear  m 


be  no  doubt  of  it.  Men  and  women  that  have 
worried  themselves  sick  over  their  health  and 
their  fortunes,  and  their  children’s  health,  and 
their  futures  and  fortunes,  have  learned  that  it 
is  not  necessary  for  any  human  soul  in  this  world 
to  worry.  Christian  Science  has  taught  us  all  a 
great  and  precious  lesson.  If  we  believe  that 
God  is  watching  over  us,  why  should  we  fear? 
He  knows  the  way.  He  holds  the  key.  He  will 
stand  by  us  to  the  end. 

“  Motives  are  seeds 
From  which  at  times  spring  deeds 
Not  equal  to  the  soul’s  outrcaching  hope. 
Strive  for  the  stars! 

Count  not  well  done  but  best ! 

Then,  with  brave  patience,  leave  the  rest 
To  Him  wTho  knows. 

He’ll  judge  you  justly  ere  the  record  close.” 


X 


THE  RELIGION  THAT  EVERYBODY 

BELIEVES 

HERE  is  a  religion  that  every¬ 
body  believes  and  perhaps  at 
first  sight  it  may  seem  strange 
to  some  to  say  that  it  is  the 
Christian  religion.  But  this  is 
our  challenge.  When  the 
Christian  religion  is  rightly  stated  everybody 
believes  in  it.  An  honest  unbeliever  is  unthink¬ 
able.  Not  all  are  ready  to  accept  the  Christian 
faith  but  all  do  accept  the  Christian  religion. 
Is  this  possible?  Can  the  one  be  without  the 
other?  Can  we  have  the  soul  without  the  body? 
Well,  that  question  we  will  not  now  entertain. 
To  quote  the  poet  again,  it  is  another  story.  But 
if  religion  is  a  life,  then  the  Christian  religion 
is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  Christian  life, 
the  life  as  it  was  lived  by  Christ  Himself.  This 
was  simply  and  splendidly  stated  one  day  by 
Peter.  He  was  talking  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  and 
he  put  the  Man’s  biography  into  one  pregnant 
sentence, 1 1  He  went  about  doing  good. 9  9  Christ *s 
whole  earthly  life  was  spent  in  doing  good,  in 
healing  disease,  in  destroying  the  works  of  dark- 


102 


IReltaton  Ufoat  Believes  *03 


ness,  in  striving  to  repair  the  broken  order.  It 
was  His  very  meat  and  drink.  And  it  is  the  task 
to  which  He  summons  every  one  who  calls  him¬ 
self  His  follower.  This  is  the  religion  that  every¬ 
body  believes. 

There  are  some  things  about  the  Lord  Jesus 
that  cannot  be  doubted,  and  they  cannot  be 
doubted  because  they  are  not  articles  of  faith 
but  statements  of  fact.  This  is  one  of  them. 
Some  may  doubt  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible; 
they  may  question  the  historical  accuracy  of  the 
four  Evangelists;  they  may  even  go  to  the  very 
extreme  and  doubt  whether  such  a  person  as 
the  Man  of  Nazareth  ever  lived.  But,  historical 
or  mythical,  they  cannot  question  this,  that  He 
is  the  one  great  supreme  spiritual  force  on  this 
earth  at  this  present  time. 

Every  question  has  two  sides,  we  say,  but  not 
this.  This  question  has  only  one  side.  Some 
may  find  it  difficult  to  credit  that  He  went  about 
doing  good  nineteen  hundred  years  ago,  but  they 
cannot  challenge  the  fact  that  He  is  going  about 
doing  good  to-day.  There  is  no  room  for  con¬ 
troversy  on  this  point.  The  influence  of  Jesus 
in  the  world  to-day  is  unmistakable.  That  is  not 
a  question  of  faith,  but  of  sight;  it  is  a  matter 
of  simple  observation.  His  spirit  is  at  work  in 
the  world,  or  if  you  prefer  to  call  it — His  in¬ 
fluence.  And  it  has  grown  with  the  years.  Other 
forces  have  come  and  gone,  but  Jesus  abides. 


*04  IReUdion  Ubat  iE\>erpbot>£  JSelteves 


His  empire  is  greater  to-day  than  ever.  He  is 
the  unquestioned  leader  to-day  of  the  world’s 
spiritual  troops. 

This,  let  us  insist,  is  not  debatable.  We  may 
believe  what  we  please  about  His  birth  or  His 
baptism  or  His  divinity  or  His  miracles  or  His 
transfiguration  or  His  claims  or  His  death  or 
even  His  resurrection,  but  the  fact  of  His  spiri¬ 
tual  power  and  its  manifestation  in  the  world  is 
not  dependent  on  any  dogma;  it  is  here  to  be 
reckoned  with,  dogma  or  no  dogma.  It  is  a  fact 
that  cannot  be  disputed;  it  is  a  challenge  that 
cannot  be  gainsaid;  it  is  a  kingdom  that  cannot 
be  shaken. 

The  really  vital  point  then  is  this  matter  of 
reproducing  this  imprint  of  the  Man.  Jesus 
went  about  doing  good,  and  He  went  about  it  in 
very  simple  ways.  He  never  laboured  to  do 
anything  great  or  brilliant.  He  was  not  in  the 
least  theatrical.  His  life  consisted  mostly  of 
numberless  little  things.  It  was  largely  a  matter 
of  personal  touch  and  intimate  conversations  and 
helpful  kindnesses.  There  was  nothing  showy 
or  dramatic  or  pretentious  in  His  public  minis¬ 
try.  The  only  really  spectacular  triumph  He 
won  was  on  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  and 
there  were  only  three  with  Him  at  the  time.  It 
was  a  life  dedicated  to  life ’s  daily  common  tasks. 

And  it  is  not  otherwise  with  us,  at  least  with 
most  of  us.  As  He  was  in  the  world,  so  are  we. 


IReilGion  TEbat  Eversbobp  Believes  105 


God  may  not  be  calling  us  to  any  great  eventful 
exploit,  but  there’s  not  one  of  us,  however  dis¬ 
advantaged,  that  cannot  be  doing  good  in  a 
legion  of  little  ways.  If  God  wanted  His  chil¬ 
dren  to  move  mountains  He  would  have  put  some 
colossal  mountain-moving  equipment  into  their 
hands,  and  planted  them  down  at  the  foot  of 
some  giant  peak  and  said,  “Now  go  ahead  and 
move  it.  ’  ’  But  He  hasn ’t  done  that ;  the  most  of 
us  cannot  move  mountains ;  the  most  of  us  don ’t 
amount  to  much  when  it  comes  to  shifting  moun¬ 
tains.  Only  this  reminder :  It  is  the  little  things 
in  life  that  are  the  great  things.  It  is  the  little 
things  that  really  count.  We  read  the  other  day 
of  a  great,  stalwart  tree  out  in  Colorado.  It  is 
400  years  old.  It  was  a  sapling  when  Columbus 
landed  on  San  Salvador.  It  has  been  struck  by 
lightning  fourteen  times.  It  has  braved  the 
storms  of  four  centuries.  But  in  the  end  beetles 
killed  it.  It  is  the  little  things  in  life  that  are  the 
really  important  things. 

There  are  many  who  feel  that  the  supreme  call 
to-day  is  for  a  definition  of  true  religion  in  the 
language  of  service.  If  I  were  drawing  up  a 
catechism  I  think  I  should  have  as  the  first 
question,  “What  is  the  chief  end  of  man?” 
And  I  think  my  answer  would  be,  “The  chief 
end  of  man  is  to  glorify  God  by  going  about  do¬ 
ing  good.” 

“Religion,”  as  Professor  Rauschenbush  once 


*06  IReltjlon  Ubat  Bver^bofcs  Believes 


put  it,  “has  spent  a  large  part  of  its  time  in 
sacrificing,  in  praying,  in  travelling  to  Mecca 
and  Jerusalem  and  Rome,  in  kissing  sacred 
stones,  bathing  in  sacred  rivers,  climbing  sacred 
stairs,  and  a  thousand  other  things  of  like  kind.’ 7 
But  the  way  that  Jesus  computed  religion  was  in 
seeing  how  much  good  you  can  do.  It  is  not  a 
book  to  be  read  or  a  system  of  truth  to  be  dis¬ 
cussed  or  a  catechism  to  be  memorized ;  it  is  not 
a  philosophy  to  be  argued  about  nor  a  scientific 
theory  to  be  proven;  it  is  a  life  of  goodness  to 
be  lived.  The  great  majority  of  people  are  not 
interested  in  scientific  books  on  botany  but  they 
will  go  miles  to  see  a  dahlia  display.  When 
Burbank  assembles  his  facts  and  puts  them  into 
a  beautiful  orchid,  everybody  stands  and  ad¬ 
mires;  and  when  we  take  the  great  truths  of  the 
Christian  faith  and  incorporate  them  into  a 
beautiful  life,  even  the  unbeliever  sits  up  and 
takes  notice. 

Of  course  the  essential  thing  is  to  have  the 
Christ-spirit.  I  do  not  think  it  is  possible  to 
even  feebly  repeat  the  Christ  life  without  having 
in  some  measure  His  mind,  His  passion,  His 
love.  There  is  a  book  on  roses  written  by  Dean 
Hole,  and  the  very  first  sentence  in  the  book  is 
a  striking  one.  This  is  the  sentence:  “He  who 
would  have  beautiful  roses  in  his  garden  must 
first  have  beautiful  roses  in  his  heart.’ ’  Paul 
says  that  good  works  are  not  acceptable  without 


IReiigton  Qhat  JEvc ^Believes  W7 


faith.  He  means  by  that  that  the  motive  of  the 
heart  must  be  taken  into  account.  It  is  possible 
to  go  about  doing  good  for  purely  selfish  reasons. 
A  man  may  do  good  simply  to  gain  the  esteem 
of  his  fellow  men.  He  may  do  good  because  it 
is  a  wise  thing  to  do  from  a  business  standpoint. 
He  may  give  largely  to  charity  just  to  get  his 
name  into  the  papers.  It  is  possible  to  be 
generous  and  gracious  and  yet  to  have  a  mind 
filled  with  meanness.  It  is  possible  to  be 
very  religious  and  yet  to  have  precious  little  re¬ 
ligion.  So  it  all  comes  back  to  the  question, 
Are  we  doing  good  in  the  spirit  of  Christ?  “If 
a  man  have  not  the  spirit  of  Christ  he  is  none 
of  his.”  That  is  fundamental.  Have  we  the 
mind  of  our  Master?  Have  we  His  Spirit?  If 
we  have,  we  have  everything ;  if  we  have  not,  we 
have  nothing.  “It  takes  the  spirit  of  Living¬ 
stone  to  do  Livingstone’s  work.”  Though  I 
speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels  and 
have  not  the  spirit  of  Christ,  I  am  only  elocution¬ 
izing.  Though  I  bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed 
the  poor  and  have  not  the  spirit  of  Christ,  I 
am  only  advertising.  Though  I  even  give  my 
body  to  be  burned  and  have  not  the  spirit  of 
Christ  it  becomes  of  no  possible  avail;  I’m 
only  a  fanatic.  If  I  pay  regularly  for  my  pew 
rent  in  church,  and  then  some  fine  morning  lose 
my  temper  and  get  cross  at  the  ushers  because 
some  poor  lonely  wayfarer  stumbled  in  and  took 


*08  IReitoton  Ubat  Bversbob#  Believes 


my  seat,  I  have  not  the  spirit  of  Christ.  If  I 
had  I  would  be  overjoyed  to  welcome  a  stranger 
to  the  place  of  prayer.  A  church  without  His 
spirit  is  not  a  church  of  Christ.  A  church  that 
is  unbrotherly  is  not  a  church  of  Christ.  A 
church  that  is  cold  and  snobbish  is  not  a  church 
of  Christ.  It  is  only  a  federation  of  the  Evil 
One.  When  it  comes  to  religion  some  Christians 
have  very  cutting  tongues  and  very  sharp  claws. 
They  love  their  own  denomination  but  they  hate 
Unitarians.  They  say  very  bitter  things  about 
Catholicism.  They  ridicule  and  make  gay  sport 
of  Christian  Science.  But  this  surely  is  not  the 
spirit  of  Christ.  The  spirit  of  Christ  is  a  spirit 
of  loving  kindness.  4  ‘  By  this  shall  all  men  know 
that  ye  are  my  disciples  if  ye  have  love  one  to 
another. 5  ’ 

This  is  not  saying  that  it  does  not  matter  what 
He  taught.  It  does  matter  what  He  taught.  But 
it  matters  infinitely  more  how  He  lived.  And 
He  lived  in  such  a  way  as  to  teach  us  that  love 
was  the  only  thing  worth  living  for.  If  we  have 
love  we  have  everything ;  if  we  have  not  love  we 
have  nothing.  We  speak  of  the  Sabbath  Day  as 
holy.  We  say,  “Kemember  the  Sabbath  day 
to  keep  it  holy.”  But  what  is  it  makes  a  day 
holy?  Does  shutting  up  my  store  and  giving  my 
clerks  a  day  off  each  week — does  that  make  a  day 
holy?  Does  going  to  church  simply  because  it  is 
the  proper  thing  to  do  make  a  day  holy  ?  Does 


IReligion  Ubat  lEver^bob^  Believes  *09 


singing  hymns  make  a  day  holy  ?  Does  putting 
on  a  new  suit  of  clothes  and  shining  my  shoes 
make  a  day  holy?  No  day  is  holy  unless  I  fill 
it  with  deeds  of  sincere  worship  and  loving  serv¬ 
ice.  Divine  service  consists  in  making  service 
divine.  An  hour  on  Monday  helping  some  poor 
fellow-mortal  is  far  holier  than  any  Sunday 
spent  in  indolence.  “It  is  the  deed  that  sanc¬ 
tifies  the  day,  not  the  day  the  deed.”  And  the 
character  of  a  deed  depends  upon  the  spirit  in 
which  it  is  performed. 

There  are  lots  of  people,  and  thousands  of 
them  professing  Christians,  to  whom  religion  is 
purely  a  selfish  matter.  They  want  its  seal  and 
approval  in  the  hour  of  joy;  they  crave  its  peace 
and  comfort  in  the  day  of  trouble;  they  desire 
its  consolation,  its  promise  of  forgiveness  in  the 
time  of  penitence.  They  ask  too  its  inspiration 
and  the  uplift  of  its  worship,  its  hymns,  its  sacra¬ 
ments,  its  fellowship.  They  want  its  teachings, 
its  instruction,  its  ideals  of  heavenly  wisdom. 
And  then,  and  more  particularly,  when  the  bell 
rings  and  school  is  out,  they  want  a  home  to  go 
to — a  heavenly  home,  a  “home  not  made  with 
hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.”  In  a  word,  re¬ 
ligion  to  them  is  a  selfish  consideration.  They 
never  link  up  their  church-going  with  any  form 
of  service.  “They  do  not  want  their  comfort¬ 
able  schedule  of  life  disturbed.”  The  whole 
matter  is  a  sort  of  insurance  policy  for  this 


no  IReiiaion  ubat  35eUe\>e$ 


world  and  the  next.  They  are  bargain  hunters 
pure  and  simple. 

Then  on  the  other  hand  if  some  are  too  selfish 
to  do  any  definite  work,  others  are  too  conse¬ 
quential.  They  lack  the  spirit  of  humility. 
They  always  demand  a  prominent  place.  They 
will  not  serve  on  any  committee  unless  they  are 
chairman.  I  have  known  instances  where  people 
were  asked  to  help  in  some  particular  task,  and 
when  they  consented  they  gave  the  impression 
that  the  cause  was  receiving  a  great  favour.  The 
Psalmist  says,  “I  am  willing  to  be  a  doorkeeper 
in  the  House  of  the  Lord.”  That’s  the  spirit  of 
Christ — to  be  even  a  doorkeeper. 

This  then  is  the  religion  that  everybody  be¬ 
lieves.  When  our  faith  is  thus  stated  there  are 
no  infidels.  Infidelity  cannot  thrive  in  this 
ozone.  We  spend  much  time  in  worship  but  the 
important  thing  is,  how  does  our  worship  ex¬ 
press  itself?  Worship  is  good  but  service  is 
better.  Does  our  worship  show  itself  in  some 
definite  reform?  No  earnest  person  can  give  any 
valid  excuse  for  idleness  these  troubled  days. 
There’s  a  commission  for  everybody.  We  are 
always  hearing  the  cry  of  the  unemployed  but 
there  need  be  no  Christian  unemployed.  Say 
not  you  can  do  nothing.  If  we  think  we  can  do 
nothing  that  is  what  we  will  do.  Let  us  have 
faith  to  believe  we  can  do  something.  You  say, 
I  read  my  Bible;  I  say  my  prayers;  I  go  to 


IReUgion  Ubat  JEvetpbobg  BeUepes  tu 


church ;  I  take  communion.  So  far,  good.  This 
is  the  way  to  renew  our  strength  and  confirm 
our  faith.  But  when  strength  is  renewed  and 
faith  confirmed,  what  are  we  going  to  do  with 
them?  “If  a  man  is  really  good  he  should  be 
doing  some  real  good.”  He  that  doeth  righteous¬ 
ness  is  righteous.  Many  label  themselves  Chris¬ 
tians  but  to-day,  unfortunately,  that  may  not 
mean  much.  Are  we  Christians  with  the 
apostolic  spirit  ?  Is  there  a  light  about  us  or  is  it 
mostly  smoke?  The  noblest  question  any  one 
can  ask  himself  in  this  world  is  this,  ‘ 1  What  good 
can  I  do?”  That  is  a  beautiful  prayer  which 
the  old  Huguenots  had  in  their  liturgy,  “Oh 
God,  grant  that  this  day  I  may  be  useful  to 
some  one.”  There  is  a  story  told  of  Sir  Bartle 
Frere,  at  one  time  Governor  of  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope.  He  was  coming  to  visit  a  Scotch  home. 
The  master  sent  one  of  his  servants  to  meet  him 
at  the  depot.  And  this  is  how  he  was  to  recog¬ 
nize  him:  “When  the  train  comes  in  just  look 
for  a  tall  gentleman  helping  somebody.” 

And  this  is  the  spirit  the  age  is  clamouring 
for — the  spirit  of  helpfulness  and  service.  And 
it  is  the  only  way  to  enjoy  our  corporate  life. 
We  only  get  out  of  any  fellowship  what  we  put 
into  it.  If  we  put  nothing  in,  we  will  get  noth¬ 
ing  out.  If  we  put  little  in,  we  will  get  little 
out.  If  we  put  much  in  we  will  get  much  out. 
A  magnet  only  keeps  its  power  when  given  some- 


U2  IReltoion  Ubat  Evergbobs  Believes 


thing  to  do.  If  you  hang  a  magnet  where  it 
cannot  touch  other  pieces  of  metal  it  will  de¬ 
teriorate  and  lose  its  strength.  Even  a  magnet 
must  expend  itself  if  it  would  retain  its  secret. 
Wine  can  be  bottled  up  in  the  cellar  and  it  will 
get  richer  all  the  while.  But  not  so  religion. 
To  keep  the  faith  is  to  daily  live  it.  Like  a 
sword  it  loses  its  edge  if  never  used,  it  rusts  if 
laid  aside.  Religion  is  raising  one  hand  up  and 
holding  the  other  out.  George  Eliot  speaks  of 
‘ c  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again  in  lives 
made  better  by  their  presence.  ’  ’ 

And  then  how  little  it  takes  sometimes  to  make 
a  weary  world  sing !  Some  one  observes  that  the 
best  way  to  kindle  a  smile  is  to  smile.  Kindness 
is  not  a  deposit  like  an  oil  well  which  shows  signs 
of  petering  out.  It  is  an  inexhaustible  supply. 
Scientists  speak  of  the  conservation  of  energy, 
but  there  is  no  conservation  of  goodness.  We 
can  add  to  the  treasury  every  morning.  Never 
a  day  passes  but  we  can  increase  the  reserve. 
Stevenson  has  a  little  poem : 

**  If  I  have  faltered  more  or  less  in  my  great  task  of 
happiness, 

If  I  have  moved  among  my  race  and  shown  no 
glorious  morning  face, 

If  beams  from  happy  human  eyes  have  moved  me 
not,  if  morning  skies, 

Books,  and  my  food  and  summer  rain  knocked  on 
my  sullen  heart  in  vain; 

Lord,  Thy  most  pointed  pleasure  take  and  stab  my 
spirit  broad  awake.” 


IReltGton  ITbat  Believes  uz 


For  all  the  people  who  sang  for  ns  when  the  day 
was  dark,  for  all  who  helped  us  when  the  load 
was  heavy — for  all  such  we  say,  Hallelujah. 

We  are  hearing  much  to-day  about  evolution 
and  its  all  sufficiency  to  solve  the  mysteries  of 
life.  There  is  no  question  that  evolution  ac¬ 
counts  for  many  things.  It  interprets  the  struc¬ 
ture  and  growth  of  the  human  body;  it  throws 
not  a  little  light  on  the  development  of  the  hu¬ 
man  mind;  it  explains  man’s  keenness,  his  cun¬ 
ning,  his  cleverness  and  all  those  qualities  that 
make  for  what  the  world  calls  success.  But  there 
are  other  things  it  is  powerless  to  determine.  It 
is  helpless  for  instance  to  account  for  the  virtues 
that  have  no  value  in  the  world’s  markets;  it 
can  make  nothing  at  all  of  love  and  kindness  and 
gentleness  and  the  spirit  of  unselfishness;  it  has 
no  answer  to  make  to  the  question,  Why  should 
one  be  willing  to  die  for  the  sake  of  his  convic¬ 
tions?  The  history  of  the  Church,  unfortu¬ 
nately,  is  largely  a  history  of  doctrines.  The¬ 
ologians  have  wasted  gallons  of  ink  writing 
creeds.  Sometimes  the  hair-splitting  definitions 
are  most  confusing  and  bewildering.  But  what 
use  is  any  creed  if  it  lacks  the  spirit  of  its 
Archetype?  The  best  test  of  a  book  is  not  who 
wrote  it  but  has  it  the  breath  of  the  eternal  in  it. 
A  man  may  be  as  orthodox — well,  John  Wesley 
says,  as  the  devil — and  as  unspiritual.  He  may 
go  through  all  the  forms  of  religion  and  mumble 


U4  IReUaion  Ufoat  B\>er£bob£  Believes 


all  its  paternosters  as  punctiliously  and  devoutly 
as  a  faithful  visitor  to  the  Vatican  and  still  be 
at  heart  a  stranger  to  the  truth.  Religion  is  not 
believing  that  there  is  only  one  Isaiah.  It  is 
just  as  religious  to  believe  in  two  or  three  or  six 
Isaiahs  as  to  believe  in  only  one.  Religion  is  not 
a  question  of  Isaiahs  at  all.  Religion  is  not  be¬ 
lieving  that  the  book  of  Jonah  is  historical.  It 
is  just  as  religious  to  believe  that  the  book  is 
allegorical,  and  that  the  idea  is  to  represent 
Nineveh  as  swallowing  up  little  Israel,  as  to  be¬ 
lieve  in  its  verbal  veracity.  Religion  has  noth¬ 
ing  to  do  with  these  questions.  They  are  ques¬ 
tions  of  science,  of  history,  of  criticism.  Re¬ 
ligion  is  to  fear  God  and  keep  His  command¬ 
ments.  Religion  is  to  be  kind  and  merciful  and 
forgiving.  Religion  is  to  visit  the  fatherless  and 
the  widows  in  their  affliction.  Religion  is  to 
love  one’s  neighbour  as  oneself.  When  we  stand 
before  the  great  bar  above  we  are  not  going  to 
be  judged  by  our  creeds  but  by  our  kindness. 
Did  we  feed  the  hungry?  Did  we  clothe  the 
naked?  Did  we  go  about  doing  good?  Re¬ 
ligion  is  a  life  not  a  dogma,  not  a  dead  tradition ; 
it  is  a  power  in  the  soul,  not  a  formula. 

I  recall  the  story  of  a  printer.  He  was  setting 
up  in  type  a  sermon.  And  coming  across  the 
expression  ethical  Christianity,  he  mistook  it  for 
ethereal  Christianity.  Alas  there  are  many  such 
typical  blunders.  This  is  not  assuming  that 


IRellaton  Ubat  Bvervbo&v  Believes  U5 


there  is  too  much  Christianity  of  the  ethereal 
kind  but  it  is  saying  that  there  is  not  nearly 
enough  of  the  ethical  stamp.  Behind  the  great 
shaft  of  Nelson  in  Trafalgar  Square,  much  more 
modest  but  much  more  important  to-day,  there 
is  the  statue  of  Edith  Cavell.  She  died  with  a 
sentence  on  her  lips  which  will  probably  live  as 
long  as  Lord  Nelson’s  immortal  utterance.  Nel¬ 
son  said  4 ‘England  expects  every  man  to  do  his 
duty”  and  it  was  a  noble  saying.  But  Miss 
Cavell  said,  “I  perceive  that  patriotism  is  not 
enough  .  ,  .  there  is  something  better  than 
patriotism:  it  is  the  love  of  humanity,  it  is  the 
love  of  man.”  We  all  know  Mark  Pattison,  that 
rare  and  brilliant  genius.  But  how  few  are  fa¬ 
miliar  with  the  story  of  his  sister — Sister  Dora 
as  she  was  called.  Many  consider  that  she  did  a 
greater  work  than  her  brilliant  brother.  She  was 
a  nurse  in  one  of  the  English  hospitals.  And 
when  at  night  she  would  lie  down  to  snatch  a 
few  hours’  rest  and  some  patient  would  ring  the 
bell,  she  would  jump  up  whispering  to  herself, 
“The  Master  is  come  and  calleth  for  me.”  It  is 
thus  that  the  great  souls  of  the  world  hear  the 
cry  of  need. 

Charity  is  a  lovely  virtue  but  not  the  loveliest. 
Giving  money  to  those  in  need  is  good  but  it  is 
not  a  distinctly  Christian  grace.  Pliny  the 
Roman  orator  bestowed  great  sums  of  money  on 
the  poor,  as  did  also  Cyrus  and  Cicero  and  Mark 


U6  iRelfoion  UMt  Bversbob#  Relieves 


Antony  and  Julius  Caesar.  Almost  as  far  back 
as  history  goes  we  have  these  noble  instances  of 
generosity.  One  of  the  difficulties  with  organ¬ 
ized  charity  to-day  is  that  it  lacks  the  personal 
touch  and  does  its  work  by  proxy.  It  is  a  splen¬ 
did  thing  to  give  a  check  but  better  far  to  give 
oneself.  The  camelia  can  never  be  made  as  pop¬ 
ular  as  the  rose.  It  is  just  as  beautiful  but  it  is 
cold  and  odourless.  Religion  asks  for  a  little 
slice  of  a  man’s  time  as  well  as  his  money.  It 
calls  not  only  for  my  secretary :  it  calls  for  my¬ 
self,  for  a  little  of  the  warmth  of  my  heart. 
The  whole  root  of  the  trouble  to-day  that  sepa¬ 
rates  class  from  class  is  lack  of  sympathy.  The 
rich  are  often  heartless  because  they  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  be  poor :  the  strong  are  often  pitiless 
because  they  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  weak. 
This  is  not  belittling  the  gifts  of  the  generous. 
That  would  be  a  very  short-sighted  and  unscrip- 
tural  thing  to  do.  For  are  we  not  told  that 
“God  loveth  a  cheerful  giver”?  Some  one  speaks 
of  the  romance  of  money.  He  means  that  you 
can  send  your  dollars  flying  round  the  world 
touching  millions  of  lives,  feeding  hungry  chil¬ 
dren,  healing  sick  babies,  and  bringing  back 
glorious  dividends  of  human  joy.  You  can  go 
down  here  to  the  bank  and  cable  help  to  almost 
any  part  of  the  world.  Isn’t  that  romantic? 
“The  greenback  in  your  hand  may  become  one 
of  the  green  leaves  of  the  tree  of  life.”  Do  not 


IReliglon  Ub at  BvetEbofc^  Believes  m 


call  it  filthy.  It  is  not  filthy  unless  we  make  it 
filthy.  It  may  be  as  clean  and  pure  and  sweet 
as  the  white  surplice  which  the  angels  wear. 
Truly  indeed  money  is  romantic.  And  often¬ 
times  it  is  an  acid  test.  The  warning  is,  *  ‘  Freely 
ye  have  received,  freely  give.”  Some  one  has 
observed  that  the  man  who  will  not  give  any¬ 
thing  to  hospitals  deserves  some  day  to  be  found 
in  one.  Only  remember  again  that  though  I 
bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor  and  lack 
love  for  them,  I  am  nothing. 

Mr.  A.  C.  Benson  has  a  book  which  he  calls 
“The  Gate  of  Death.’ 7  He  had  had  a  very  se¬ 
vere  fall  and  for  weeks  hovered  round  the  bor¬ 
der  line.  His  life  was  despaired  of  and  he  was 
given  the  sacraments  of  the  Church.  But  he 
recovered  and  during  his  convalescence  he  began 
to  write  down  the  thoughts  he  had  been  having 
during  that  critical  time.  And  now  I  quote: 
“I  did  not  care  for  my  personal  successes.  I 
cared  nothing  for  the  little  position  I  had 
achieved,  nothing  for  the  books  I  had  written. 
I  did  not  even  care  to  think  that  I  had,  however 
feebly,  tried  to  serve  the  will  of  God.  What  I 
did  care  about  was  the  thought  that  I  had  made 
a  few  people  happier,  that  I  had  done  a  few  kind¬ 
nesses,  that  I  had  won  some  love.”  Well,  when 
we  all  come  to  the  crisis  I  wonder  what  will  be 
the  pride  of  our  life?  Can  any  one  doubt  that 
it  will  be  much  the  same?  I  sometimes  think 


u a  iReUalon  Ubat  isvcxyboby  Believes 


the  records  of  heaven  will  be  most  unusual  read¬ 
ing.  The  brilliant  things  will  be  there  of  course 
— the  dash  over  the  top,  the  hero  on  the  sinking 
ship,  the  martyr  at  the  stake.  But  so  will  the 
cup  of  cold  water  and  the  visit  to  the  sick  bed 
or  the  smile  to  the  stranger.  That  gold  at  the 
foot  of  the  rainbow  is  a  mirage.  It  is  the  gold 
at  our  feet  that  is  real. 

“Ragged,  uncomely,  and  old  and  gray, 

A  woman  walked  in  a  Northern  town, 

And  through  the  crowd  as  she  wound  her  way 
One  saw  her  loiter  and  then  stoop  down, 
Putting  something  away  in  her  old  torn  gown. 

“  *  You  are  hiding  a  jewel,’  the  watcher  said. 

(Ah  that  was  her  heart — had  the  truth  been  read) 
‘  What  have  you  stolen  ?  ’  he  asked  again. 

Then  the  dim  eyes  filled  with  a  sudden  pain. 

And  under  the  flickering  light  of  the  gas 
She  showed  him  her  gleaning.  ‘  It’s  broken  glass,’ 
She  said ;  ‘  I  hae  lifted  it  f rae  the  street 
To  be  oot  o’  the  road  o’  the  bairnies’  feet.* 

“Under  the  fluttering  rags  astir 
That  was  a  royal  heart  that  beat; 

Would  that  the  world  had  more  like  her 
Smoothing  the  road  for  its  bairnies’  feet.’’ 


XI 

AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  BEAUTY 


ANY  are  telling  ns  that  what  the 
world  needs  to-day  is  Beauty. 
There  are  three  types  of  char¬ 
acter  that  are  influenced  by  ap¬ 
peals  that  I  am  going  to  call 
spiritual.  The  scientist  is 
swayed  by  the  love  of  truth,  the  artist  by  the 
love  of  beauty  and  the  saint  by  the  love  of  good¬ 
ness.  These  three  temperaments  are  more  closely 
connected  than  we  sometimes  are  apt  to  suppose. 
All  are  related  more  or  less  intimately  to  the 
spiritual  world.  And  the  spiritual  message 
comes  to  each  in  his  own  special  way.  The 
scholar  reads  his  message  in  the  rocks  and  the 
stars.  The  artist  reads  his  in  the  flower  and  the 
sunset  and  the  autumn  leaf,  in  the  flight  of  the 
bird  and  the  curve  of  the  swan  and  the  note  of 
the  meadow-lark,  in  the  imposing  cathedral,  in 
the  beautiful  painting.  The  message  comes  to  the 
saint  along  the  avenue  of  goodness.  He  reads  it 
in  the  deed  of  sacrifice,  in  the  practice  of  self- 
denial,  in  the  unselfish  task,  in  the  holy  apostolic 
life. 

It  is  of  the  second  type  that  we  are  just  now 

119 


no  Bt  tbe  Sbtine  of  Beauty 


thinking  and  I  am  going  to  illustrate  it  by  the 
life  of  one  of  its  most  distinguished  apostles. 
Walter  Pater  is  the  man.  Walter  Pater  was  one 
of  those  rare  elect  souls  to  whom  the  appeal  of 
beauty  was  supreme.  He  devoted  his  life  to  one 
particular  branch  of  artistic  work,  the  art  of 
beautiful  expression.  At  first  his  interest  lay  in 
the  realm  of  metaphysics  and  philosophy.  And 
indeed  at  one  time  he  looked  forward  to  taking 
orders  in  the  Church.  But  his  philosophical  ex¬ 
cursions  and  his  theological  ramblings  did  not 
take  him  far.  They  were  halted  by  the  sudden 
discovery  one  day  of  his  acute  sensitiveness  to 
beauty.  And  it  was  in  the  palace  of  beauty  that 
he  was  to  be  found  henceforward  permanently 
and  happily  at  home. 

A  word  or  two  first  then  about  the  man.  He 
was  born  in  the  year  1839  and  he  died  in  1894. 
His  father  was  a  physician  who  had  spent  some 
years  in  America.  But  he  returned  to  England 
early  in  life  and  settled  near  Stepney,  not  far 
from  London,  where  in  due  time  Walter  was 
born,  and  where  he  grew  up  in  the  quietest  and 
sweetest  of  English  homes.  Those  who  have  read 
that  little  narrative  entitled  “The  Child  in  the 
House”  will  get  a  charming  picture  of  his  boy¬ 
hood  days,  for  a  certain  autobiographical  thread 
is  without  doubt  woven  into  the  story.  It  is  not 
only  worth  reading  for  the  glimpses  of  light 
which  it  throws  on  his  childhood.  It  is  worth 


Ht  tbe  ©brine  of  Beauty  m 


reading  just  for  its  word  melody.  It  is  ac- 
knowledged  to  be  one  of  the  most  exquisite  pieces 
of  prose  in  the  English  language.  It  is  an  im¬ 
aginative  study  of  the  psychology  of  youth.  It 
is  largely  retrospective.  One  might  call  it  a 
beautiful  rosary.  Like  De  Quincy,  Pater  always 
has  a  fondness  for  the  backward  glance.  His 
memory  turns  to  the  past  with  a  sort  of  wistful 
swiftness.  Here  was  a  child  extraordinarily 
plastic  to  early  impressions,  the  coolness  of  dark 
rooms  on  hot  summer  days,  the  scent  of  old  leather 
in  the  library,  the  winding  staircase,  the  delicate 
lights  and  shades  of  the  garden,  the  white  An¬ 
gora  with  a  dark  tail  like  an  ermine’s  and  a  face 
like  a  flower,  the  first  bereavement  in  the  family. 
One  notes  how  deeply  he  felt  as  a  child  this  first 
lesson  in  mortality.  Every  room  is  haunted 
with  echoes.  Nature  did  not  appeal  to  Pater 
so  much  as  human  nature.  We  see  this  in  his 
study  on  Wordsworth.  The  house,  the  room,  the 
furniture,  the  garden,  the  chest,  the  cornice,  the 
door,  the  panel,  the  fireplace  are  far  more  to 
him  than  the  brook  or  the  lake  or  the  marsh  or 
the  hill,  because  they  have  had  the  human  touch. 

Before  he  was  twenty  he  had  read  all  of  Rus- 
kin,  and  Ruskin’s  touch  is  traceable  in  all  his 
writings,  as  is  also  Newman’s  and  De  Quincy’s. 
But  he  lighted  his  torch  undoubtedly  at  Ruskin’s 
lamp.  Like  Amiel  and  Pascal,  lie  never  married. 
He  wrote  few  letters  and  he  never  kept  a  diary* 


122  Bt  tbe  ©brine  of  Beauty 


He  seemed  to  have  had  no  great  ambition.  He 
paid  but  few  visits  and  he  made  no  effort  to  get 
acquainted  with  distinguished  people,  not  even 
with  those  who  were  distinguished  in  his  own 
line.  His  life  was  largely  self-contained ;  it  was 
a  life  of  academic  aloofness.  He  lived  apart,  a 
more  or  less  cloistered  life,  and  yet  a  real  citizen 
of  the  world. 

It  will  be  recalled  how  Kant  wrote  a  wonder¬ 
fully  accurate  account  of  the  South  Sea  Island¬ 
ers  although  he  never  set  foot  outside  of 
Germany,  never  indeed  was  more  than  thirty 
miles  from  Konigsberg,  his  home.  And  just  so 
Pater  at  Oxford  writes  about  Greek  studies, 
Greek  art,  Greek  sculpture,  their  carvings,  em¬ 
broideries,  shields,  images,  marbles,  and  he  writes 
with  marvellous  technical  erudition  and  detail, 
and  yet  he  never  set  foot  on  the  soil  of  Greece. 
And  yet  with  all  his  temperamental  reserve  he 
seems  to  have  been  a  very  companionable  man. 
He  was  always  glad  to  see  people,  even  those 
who  were  strangers.  He  showed  no  irritability 
at  an  interruption.  There  were  no  furtive 
glances  at  the  clock.  He  was  extremely  courte¬ 
ous.  He  would  agree  with  you  rather  than  get 
into  an  argument.  If  you  expressed  an  opinion 
in  which  he  did  not  concur  he  would  say,  “I 
never  thought  of  it  in  that  light.’ ’  His  whole 
attitude  to  society  was  that  of  a  spectator.  He 
never  tempted  the  interviewer  or  the  advertiser 


Bt  tbe  ©brine  of  JSeauty  m 


or  the  reporter.  And  he  was  not  a  great  scholar, 
not  even  a  great  thinker.  Indeed  he  was  not 
even  a  great  reader,  and  as  he  grew  older  he  read 
less  and  less.  He  made  no  pretense  to  keep 
abreast  of  the  literature  of  the  day.  Stevenson 
was  all  the  vogue  in  his  time,  their  lives  overlap, 
but  he  once  said  to  a  friend :  *  ‘  I  have  never  read 
a  whole  chapter  of  Stevenson  and  I  have  not 
read  a  single  line  of  Kipling.’ ’  Plato  and  the 
Bible  were  his  favourite  books  in  his  later  years. 
It  is  worth  observing  too  that  he  was  not  a  bril¬ 
liant  youth,  nor  in  college  had  he  been  a  brilliant 
student.  There  was  no  hint  of  promise  in  his 
university  career.  He  appears  there  as  a  slow, 
serious  boy.  The  only  person  who  seemed  to 
appreciate  his  gifts  was  Jowett,  who  said  to  him 
one  day,  “Mr.  Pater,  I  believe  you  have  a  mind 
which  will  some  day  come  to  eminence.”  He 
seems  to  have  written  nothing  during  his  under¬ 
graduate  life.  He  showed  no  signs  of  a  literary 
bent.  He  wrote  no  poetry  as  a  boy,  and  so  far 
as  we  know,  very  little  prose,  and  what  he  did 
write  is  stiff  and  dry.  So  he  did  not  master  his 
rich  vocabulary  as  a  voluminous  reporter,  or 
through  reams  of  scribbling  that  only  saw  the 
waste-basket. 

We  noted  how  he  started  out  as  a  philosopher, 
then  as  a  student  of  theology.  It  was  a  journey 
to  Italy  that  changed  his  plans.  His  first  sight 
of  Italian  art  opened  up  a  new  world  to  him. 


*24  Bt  tbe  Sbrtne  of  Beauty 


Here  he  devoted  himself  to  a  diligent  study  of 
the  Italian  renaissance,  and  after  reading  the 
life  of  Winckelman  his  conversion  was  complete. 
Winckelman  it  will  be  remembered  was  a  German 
archaeologist,  the  son  of  a  poor  shoemaker.  He 
too  had  studied  philosophy  and  theology.  When 
he  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  however,  he  became 
fascinated  with  the  beauty  of  Greek  art.  He 
joined  the  Church  of  Rome  and  went  to  Italy 
where  he  wrote  his  great  book  ‘‘The  History  of 
Ancient  Art.”  His  end  was  tragic.  He  was 
murdered  by  a  fellow  traveller  on  the  road  to 
Trieste.  This  was  the  man  who  was  destined  to 
leave  such  a  profound  impression  on  Pater’s  life. 
He  saw  in  Winckelman  his  own  true  prototype. 
He  seemed  to  be  reading  the  history  of  his  own 
soul.  And  his  first  essay,  written  in  1866,  was 
about  this  great  German  Hellenist,  who  by  the 
way  it  is  worth  noting  had  such  an  influence  also 
on  Goethe’s  career.  Henceforth  Pater  decided 
to  devote  all  his  energies  to  the  worship  of  the 
beautiful. 

He  was  never  a  linguist.  He  visited  Italy 
often.  He  went  there  as  he  said  to  feed  his 
hunger  for  beauty  but  he  never  took  the  trouble 
to  even  try  to  speak  Italian.  He  travelled  in 
France  a  great  deal,  but  his  knowledge  of  French 
was  very  limited,  barely  sufficient  to  make  his 
wants  known.  He  always  spent  his  vacation  at 
Heidelberg,  but  he  made  no  effort  to  speak  the 


Bt  tbe  Sbrine  ot  JSeauts  ns 


German  tongue.  He  had  no  desire,  it  would 
seem,  to  be  competent  in  any  modern  language 
except  his  own.  He  used  to  say,  ‘‘Between  you 
and  me  and  the  gate  post,  I  hate  a  foreigner.” 
English  was  the  only  tongue  that  he  mastered. 
And  it  is  a  comfort  to  some  of  us  that  he  wrote 
it  with  such  painful  difficulty.  Composition  was 
a  real  agony  to  him.  It  was  like  working  at  a 
pump  when  the  water,  deep  down  and  hard  to 
reach,  refuses  to  flow.  He  was  the  most  la¬ 
borious  of  English  writers.  As  the  years  went 
by,  however,  the  effort  grew  less  troublesome  and 
irksome.  Near  the  end  he  said  to  Mr.  Gosse  one 
day,  “Writing  is  easier  than  it  used  to  be.  If 
I  live  long  enough  I  may  come  in  time  to  really 
like  it.”  Like  Sainte  Beuve  he  was  painstaking 
and  patient  and  very  free  in  the  use  of  the  file. 
He  revised  carefully  and  jealously  and  con¬ 
scientiously,  and  it  was  from  these  stippled 
touches  that  his  work  came  forth  a  perfect  thing. 
He  has  literary  mannerisms.  He  is  fond  of  us¬ 
ing  words  in  their  archaic  sense.  He  is  what 
would  be  called  a  scholarly  writer.  He  is  hardly 
ever  witty  although  often  humorous,  but  his  hu¬ 
mour  is  insidious.  “I  wish,”  he  remarked  to  a 
friend  one  day,  *  ‘  I  wish  they  would  not  call  me 
a  Hedonist;  it  produces  such  a  bad  impression 
on  people  who  don’t  know  Greek.”  He  has 
favourite  words,  words  like  blithe,  sordid,  mor¬ 
bid,  mortified,  repose.  He  frequently  uses  the 


n 6  Bt  tbe  Sbrine  of  Beaut# 


expression  “no  doubt.’ 7  In  an  argument  it 
served  as  a  sort  of  courteous  retreat.  The  word 
*  ‘ well’ 7  he  often  uses  in  a  meditative  sense,  as 
for  instance,  4 ‘That  man  reminds  me,  well,  of  a 
steam  engine  stuck  in  the  mud.77  He  regarded 
enthusiasm  as  bad  form.  He  disliked  every  form 
of  extravagance  with  a  strong  temperamental 
dislike.  It  jarred  him  like  a  false  note  in  music. 

Perhaps  his  essay  on  Leonardo  is  the  most 
brilliant  thing  he  ever  did.  The  versatility  of 
the  great  painter,  his  life  broken  up  into  so 
many  different  channels  and  all  of  them  deep 
channels,  his  absorption  in  the  beautiful,  so 
much  so  as  to  be  almost  unaware  of  the  great 
upheavals  through  which  his  country  was  pass¬ 
ing,  strongly  appealed  to  Pater.  The  descriptive 
passages  in  the  essay  are  very  exquisite.  There 
is  a  strange  magic  about  them  like  the  smile  on 
the  face  of  Mona  Lisa,  a  severe  economy  of  state¬ 
ment  and  yet  a  subtlety  of  illustration  that  mark 
the  perfect  craftsman.  Instance  this  familiar 
passage  where  he  is  describing  Gioconda.  ‘  *  Hers 
is  the  head  upon  which  all  ‘the  ends  of  the  world 
are  come7  and  the  eyelids  are  a  little  weary.  It 
is  a  beauty  wrought  out  from  within  upon  the 
flesh,  the  deposit  cell  by  cell,  of  strange  thoughts 
and  fantastic  reveries  and  exquisite  passions. 
Set  it  for  a  moment  beside  one  of  those  white 
Greek  goddesses  or  beautiful  women  of  antiquity, 
and  how  would  they  be  troubled  by  this  beauty, 


Bt  tbe  Sbrine  ot  JSeaut^  J27 


into  which  the  soul  with  all  its  maladies  has 
passed !  All  the  thoughts  and  experiences  of  the 
world  have  etched  and  moulded  there,  the  ani¬ 
malism  of  Greece,  the  lust  of  Rome,  the  reverie 
of  the  middle  age  with  its  spiritual  ambition  and 
imaginative  loves,  the  return  of  the  Pagan 
world,  the  sins  of  the  Borgias.  She  is  older  than 
the  rocks  among  which  she  sits;  like  the  vam¬ 
pire,  she  has  been  dead  many  times,  and  learned 
the  secrets  of  the  grave/  ’  How  magical  are 
these  words ! 

His  religious  ideas  are  expressed  most  clearly 
in  his  later  essays,  especially  the  story  of  Marius, 
the  Epicurean.  The  story  of  Marius  is  a  familiar 
one.  It  is  the  story  of  a  strong  mind,  and  a 
mind  with  an  earnest  religious  bent,  brought  to 
the  very  door  of  the  Christian  faith.  He  tries 
every  phase  of  philosophy.  He  becomes  an  Epi¬ 
curean.  He  tries  Stoicism  and  theism  but  none 
of  these  things  give  him  what  his  heart  is  seek¬ 
ing.  In  the  end  he  is  brought  face  to  face  with 
Christianity.  The  challenge  that  it  makes  is 
largely  an  aesthetic  one.  The  part  of  Christianity 
that  appealed  to  him  was  not  its  conception  of 
love,  but  its  liturgical  beauty,  its  detachment  and 
philosophic  composure.  There  is  no  sense  of 
personality  or  fatherhood.  He  did  not  seem 
capable  of  disentangling  religion  from  its  ac¬ 
cessories.  Religion  was  a  beautiful  fringe  to  a 
useful  garment.  As  the  shadow  of  death  begins 


J28  Bt  tbc  Sforine  of  Beauts 


to  fall,  however,  his  faith  in  an  unseen  Presence 
seems  to  come  nearer.  His  last  moments  were 
comforted  with  the  sacrament.  And  the  feeling 
which  the  book  seems  to  leave  is  that  if  he  had 
lived  he  would  have  become  an  earnest  Christian. 

His  essay  on  Pascal  was  the  last  thing  he 
wrote.  It  contains  some  of  his  deepest  thoughts 
on  the  mystery  of  life.  The  essay  was  never 
finished.  Indeed  it  breaks  off  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence.  It  is  his  most  thoughtful  utterance  on 
religious  things.  And  it  reveals  him  as  a  sceptic, 
but  as  an  unhappy  sceptic,  shall  I  say  an 
unwilling  sceptic.  His  scepticism  does  not 
satisfy.  It  shows  that  the  realm  of  beauty 
in  which  he  lived  lacked  the  warmth  and 
the  joy  his  heart  craved.  Indeed  there  are 
some  words  that  do  not  fit  Walter  Pater, 
and  Joy  is  one  of  them.  The  nearest  ap¬ 
proach  he  ever  came  to  that  state  of  bliss  is 
best  described  by  his  own  word  Pleasure.  If 
one  were  to  have  asked  him  what  was  the  chief 
end  of  man  he  would  have  answered  the  chief 
end  of  man  is  pleasure,  aesthetic  pleasure,  the 
pleasure  that  comes  from  the  pursuit  of  the 
beautiful.  His  whole  philosophy  of  life  may  be 
couched  in  Goethe’s  expression,  self-culture. 
Make  of  lifq  an  art.  Train  every  faculty  to  the 
top  notch  of  acuteness  so  as  to  catch  each  fleet¬ 
ing  glimpse  of  glory  on  the  wing.  Let  there 
be  beauty  within  to  answer  to  all  the  beauty 


Bt  tbe  Sbrine  ot  Beauty 


\  29 


without.  In  his  interpretation  of  Plato  he  puts 
beauty  above  truth  as  the  goal  to  be  kept  in 
view.  And  in  the  religious  life,  he  places  the 
emotions  above  duty.  The  chief  end  of  man,  he 
insisted,  is  not  to  glorify  God,  not  even  to  live 
right.  The  chief  end  of  man  is  to  appreciate 
the  beautiful  and  find  one’s  satisfaction  and 
pleasure  in  so  doing.  So  truth  is  made  the  serv¬ 
ant  of  beauty,  and  goodness  the  servant  of  pleas¬ 
ure.  Herein  lies  the  danger.  It  is  surely  a  poor 
lookout  for  Christianity  when  men  sacrifice 
truth  for  beauty.  The  mere  worship  of  the  beau¬ 
tiful  is  apt  to  lead  to  that  deadliest  cant  that 
art  has  no  connection  with  morality.  No  Palace 
of  Art  has  ever  been  able  to  redeem  the  world. 
Pompeii  was  swathed  in  beauty,  but  rotten  at 
the  core.  “When  one  subordinates  beauty  to 
virtue,  what  is  that  but  the  dishonour  of  the 
soul  ?  ’ 9 

In  his  interpretation  of  the  Bible  he  was  ultra 
liberal.  His  attitude  toward  the  supernatural 
was  a  good  deal  like  what  Sir  Edwin  Arnold  de¬ 
scribes  as  “politeness  toward  possibilities.” 
Christianity  rests  on  certain  assumptions  or  in¬ 
tuitions  for  which  there  never  can  be  scientific 
proof.  These  assumptions  may  transcend  reason 
but  they  can  never  fully  satisfy  reason.  And  so 
in  all  honest  men’s  minds  there  must  ever  re¬ 
main  the  element  of  doubt.  And  so  his  whole 
philosophy  of  the  Christian  Faith  is  something 


J30  Bt  tbe  Sbrine  of  Beauts 


like  this:  we  can  never  be  sure  that  the  sacred 
story  is  true  but  neither  can  we  ever  be  abso¬ 
lutely  sure  that  the  story  is  false.  So  we  must 
make  allowance  for  a  great  possibility,  and  when 
we  do  that,  the  possibility  becomes  the  most  im¬ 
portant  thing  in  the  world.  ‘  ‘  Christianity  thus 
becomes  not  a  solution  of  the  world’s  mystery, 
but  rather  a  practical  working  theory  of  morals.  ’  ’ 
And  a  theory  that  works  for  one  reason  and  one 
only,  because  of  its  beauty.  In  a  word,  he  was 
a  moralizing  sceptic.  And  like  most  moralizing 
sceptics,  he  made  the  attainment  of  ataraxia,  or 
an  untroubled  equanimity,  very  largely  the  aim 
of  his  life. 

Now  Walter  Pater  is  a  splendid  illustration 
of  the  serious-minded  doubter.  His  spirit  was 
naturally  a  doubting  one.  But  his  heart  was 
never  at  rest.  There  was  a  love  for  the  twilight 
in  his  whole  make-up.  I  think  there  can  be  no 
doubt  at  all,  that  at  one  time  he  had  lost  all  be¬ 
lief  in  the  Christian  Faith.  He  uses  expressions 
which  take  an  attitude  of  definite  hostility  to 
revealed  religion.  “When  I  knew  him  first,” 
says  Mr.  Gosse,  “he  was  a  pagan  without  any 
guide  but  that  of  personal  conscience,  but  the 
years  brought  with  them  a  greater  and  greater 
longing.” 

Perhaps  it  is  worth  observing  that  he  was  a 
regular  church  attendant  and  always  occupied 
his  stall  both  morning  and  evening.  In  this  like 


Bt  tbe  Sbrtne  ot  Beauty  m 


Gibbon  who,  though  an  unbeliever,  was  a  great 
churchman.  He  seemed  to  be  happiest  in  sacred 
places.  He  seemed  to  find  his  greatest  delight 
in  processions  and  symbols,  in  the  pomp  of 
colour  and  melody.  The  mystic  Tauler  used  to 
draw  his  cap  over  his  eyes  when  he  went  out  into 
the  country  so  that  the  violets  might  not  with¬ 
draw  him  from  his  inward  communion.  Pater 
on  the  other  hand  saw  God  in  the  violets  or 
rather  he  saw  God  in  the  beauty  of  the  violets. 
He  had  little  sympathy  for  those  who  would 
smash  all  the  carved  work  of  a  Catholic  shrine, 
and  substitute  therefor  a  Puritan  barn.  Jowett 
said  to  him  one  day,  “Mr.  Pater,  you  seem  to 
think  that  religion  is  all  idolatry/7  Indeed  he 
was  a  strong  advocate  for  making  the  college 
service  compulsory.  In  chapel  he  was  a  familiar 
figure.  And  it  was  always  remarked  that  he 
always  knelt,  and  remained  kneeling,  in  a  pose 
of  the  deepest  reverence  during  the  entire  ad¬ 
ministration  of  the  Holy  Supper.  He  seemed  to 
find  a  soothing  influence  in  the  service.  There 
are  those  indeed  who  think  that  if  he  had  lived 
longer  he  would  have  taken  orders  and  spent  his 
later  days  in  the  odour  of  the  church.  But  he 
wavered  between  Apollo  and  Christ.  Neither 
had  absolute  sway  in  his  life.  Some  one  calls 
him  “A  pilgrim  in  the  region  of  faith.7 7  I 
would  say  rather  a  pilgrim  in  the  realm  of 
beauty.  Beauty  was  the  shrine  at  which  he 


132  Bt  tbe  ©brine  of  Beauty 


knelt.  His  whole  life  was  an  offering  to  Venus. 
But  the  beauty  of  Venus  is  not  enough.  One 
thing  it  lacks.  It  lacks  personality ;  it  lacks  in¬ 
carnate  expression ;  it  lacks  heart ;  it  lacks  soul ; 
it  lacks  the  beauty  of  holiness  because  holiness  is 
unreal  till  it  becomes  a  living  manifestation.  It 
lacks  a  Master;  it  lacks  a  Christ;  it  lacks  the 
note  of  obedience. 

“  I  heard  Him  call 
Come  follow,  that  was  all. 

My  gold  grew  dim 
My  soul  went  after  Him. 

I  rose  and  followed,  that  was  all. 

Who  would  not  follow  if  he 
heard  His  call?” 


IS  OUR  FAMILY  LIFE  A  FAILURE? 


HRISTIANITY  has  no  finer 
field  of  action  than  the  home. 
If  a  man  is  living  the  right  kind 
of  life  in  his  home,  he  is  doing 
a  momentous  work;  he  can  do 
nothing  greater;  the  likelihood 
is  that  his  walk  and  behaviour  among  his  fellow 
men  will  be  blameless.  The  home  is  the  unit  for 
all  definite  reform.  Perhaps  the  most  far-reach¬ 
ing  work  that  any  two  young  fluttering  hearts 
can  do  on  this  earth  is  to  create  a  real  home. 
Because  home  is  the  soul  of  the  nation.  The 
strength  of  our  Republic  is  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  its  virtuous  homes.  Nations  will  not 
always  fight  for  a  principle,  but  they  will  always 
fight  for  their  homes.  No  sacrifice  for  it  is  too 
great.  The  home  tie  is  the  strongest  tie  that  can 
bind  a  people  together.  Home  is  the  Castle 
where  the  husband  is  King  and  the  wife  is  Queen. 

John  Mills  was  the  first  man  in  North  Caro¬ 
lina  to  provide  for  the  training  of  orphan  chil¬ 
dren.  He  used  to  say:  “I  have  looked  around  a 
good  deal  over  this  world,  and  I  have  never 
found  anything  to  make  men  out  of  but  boys; 

133 


*34  Us  ©ur  if amii£  %\tc  a  failure  ? 


and  I  have  never  found  anything  to  make  women 
out  of  but  girls/  ’  And  if  I  may  be  allowed  to 
extend  that  suggestion,  I  do  not  think  there  is 
anything  to  build  a  state  out  of  but  homes.  You 
cannot  build  a  state  out  of  navies  or  armies. 
Japan  is  not  a  Christian  nation,  but  the  funda¬ 
mental  fact  in  the  life  of  Japan  is  ancestor 
worship,  i.  e.,  reverence  for  the  fathers.  They 
believe  their  ancestors  to  be  alive  and  in  vital 
connection  with  the  life  of  their  children.  Think 
what  that  means.  Surely  no  man  would  ever  do 
a  mean  thing  if  he  felt  that  he  had  a  true  parent 
standing  by  his  side,  and  looking  over  his  shoul¬ 
der  watching  him. 

The  trouble  with  the  world  to-day  is  the  home. 
I  suppose  there  is  more  real  sorrow  in  society 
just  now  rising  directly  from  unhappy  homes 
than  from  any  other  source.  A  rough  estimate 
of  the  number  of  divorces  in  our  land  is  about 
one  in  ten.  We  have  in  round  numbers  about 
100,000  yearly.  And  the  old  mill  keeps  grind¬ 
ing  out  its  bitter  grist.  We  brand  Mormonism 
as  an  unclean  and  loathsome  thing,  but  is  there 
really  much  to  choose  between  the  system  that 
permits  plural  wives  all  at  once,  and  the  system 
that  permits  them  in  tandem  fashion? 

What  can  be  done  to  restore  and  rehabilitate 
this  crumbling  American  shrine  ?  Can  anything 
be  done?  The  home  is  the  basis  of  our  whole 
national  edifice.  No  doubt  about  that!  The 


its  Oxw  ffantils  &ife  a  jfaiiure?  J35 


Spartan  mother  believed  that  her  mission  was  to 
train  brave  men  for  the  state.  She  took  no  in¬ 
terest  in  her  son  unless  he  was  a  soldier.  That 
was  Plato’s  philosophy  too,  that  sons  should  be 
raised  for  the  state  much  as  we  raise  cattle  for 
the  market.  This  was  also  the  Prussian  concep¬ 
tion.  But  it  is  not  the  Christian  ideal.  There 
can  hardly  be  any  room  for  debate  on  the  state¬ 
ment  that  it  was  the  corruption  of  the  family 
and  the  destruction  of  the  home  life  which  led 
to  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.  We  have  no 
less  an  authority  for  that  than  Gibbon.  And 
there  is  no  higher  than  he — not  on  old  Rome. 
When  the  home  disappears,  the  Church  disap¬ 
pears,  the  state  disappears,  everything  funda¬ 
mental  and  structural  disappears.  There  are  no 
homes  in  the  heathen  world;  there  never  were. 
It  is  the  Bible  that  has  created  the  home.  And 
where  there  is  no  Bible  there  are  no  homes.  So 
that  to  strengthen  the  home,  to  purify  it,  to  en¬ 
rich  it  is  the  noblest  work  in  which  the  forces  of 
righteousness  can  engage. 

And  this  is  not  an  easy  task  to-day  because 
so  much  of  our  literature  is  outspokenly  hostile. 
Agnosticism  and  infidelity  have  spent  their  ener¬ 
gies  hitherto  fighting  the  Bible  and  the  Church, 
but  to-day  they  are  laying  their  slimy  finger  on 
the  home.  They  are  riddling  it  with  poisonous 
bullets.  In  a  play  produced  a  short  time  ago, 
one  character  counsels  another  in  these  words: 


*36  IFs  ©ur  family  %itc  a  failure  T 


“  If  your  country’s  laws  forbid  you  change  your  laws; 

If  your  family  forbids  you  change  your  family ; 

If  your  church  forbids  you  change  your  church ; 

If  your  God  forbids  you  change  your  God.” 

The  glory  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  is  her 
literature.  This  is  true  from  the  days  of 
Chaucer  to  the  days  of  Tennyson.  But  to-day 
our  shelves  are  lined  with  books  (and  they  are 
not  all  foreign  books  either)  that  are  frankly 
and  openly  anti-family.  “A  large  percentage 
of  our  modern  novels  to-day/ ’  says  Wm.  Lyon 
Phelps  of  Yale,  “represent  marriage  as  an  in¬ 
tolerable  boredom.”  In  French  fiction,  as  An¬ 
drew  Lang  once  remarked,  “love  comes  after 
marriage  punctually  enough  but  it  is  always  love 
for  some  one  else.” 

Even  a  writer  like  Lefcadio  Hearn  says  in  his 
last  book:  “To-day  we  know  that  all  social 
progress,  all  material  strength,  all  national 
vigour,  intellectual  as  well  as  physical,  depends 
essentially  upon  the  family,  upon  the  morality  of 
the  household,  upon  the  relations  of  parents  to 
children.  ’  ’ 

In  German  and  Scandinavian,  and  of  late 
years  even  in  English  literature,  Christian  mar¬ 
riage  is  stealthily  and  insidiously  attacked. 
Here’s  Ibsen.  He  does  not  hesitate  to  say  that 
monogamy  destroys  love.  Here’s  Nordeau:  he 
straight  up  and  down  denounces  wedlock. 
Here’s  Bernard  Shaw:  he  says  that  marriage  is 


Us  ©ur  family  %itc  a  failure?  J37 


the  corner-stone  of  the  system  which  produces 
all  our  social  disasters.  He  advocates  “a  scien¬ 
tific  breeding  of  the  human  race.”  His  idea  is 
that  what  the  world  needs  is  great  men  and  that 
great  men  can  never  be  born  of  parents  who 
are  mated  for  life.  Certainly  a  most  astonish¬ 
ing  deliverance.  One  is  tempted  to  ask  if  John 
Wesley  was  a  great  man  or  David  Livingstone 
or  Carlyle  or  Cromwell  or  Phillips  Brooks  or 
several  dozen  others  one  might  mention.  It 
might  do  Mr.  Shaw  some  good  to  read  about  the 
kind  of  homes  such  men  as  these  came  from. 
H.  G.  Wells  qualifies  his  ideas  on  Free  Love  by 
a  system  of  State  Eugenics. 

We  are  hearing  a  great  deal  these  days  about 
atmosphere.  We  have  become  surprisingly  in¬ 
terested  in  the  weather  bureau.  There  are  cures 
for  certain  diseases  which  depend  almost  entirely 
on  climate.  About  fifty  thousand  tourists  go 
out  every  winter  to  Southern  California.  They 
are  willing  to  pay  any  exorbitant  price  for  the 
sunshine  and  the  warmth.  During  the  hot  sum¬ 
mer  days  people  fairly  flock  to  the  seashore. 
They  are  in  search  of  an  atmosphere.  And  the 
great  thing  about  home  is  its  atmosphere.  Every 
home  is  an  individual  thing.  It  has  its  own  at¬ 
mosphere.  You  go  into  one  home  and  you 
breathe  a  sweet  incense.  Like  Tom  Moore’s  vase 
it  is  perfumed  by  the  roses  it  carries.  You  can 
almost  feel  a  sacred  presence.  The  very  next 


J38  IFs  Onx  jfamils  %\  te  a  if  allure? 


door  something  entirely  different!  You  detect 
at  once  the  odour  of  the  street.  There  is  sordid¬ 
ness  and  petulance  and  wrangling.  Ill  temper 
sours  the  air.  You  sense  the  turmoil  of  the 
market-place.  There  is  in  it  the  chill  of  winter. 

Do  you  recall  how  the  mother  of  a  great 
Chinese  philosopher  trained  her  boy  ?  I  refer  to 
Mengsten.  Her  home  was  near  a  s|aughter 
house  and  when  she  noticed  that  her  son  was 
watching  with  indifference  the  pain  of  the  ani¬ 
mals  she  moved  away.  Her  next  home  hap¬ 
pened  to  be  near  a  graveyard,  and  no#  finding 
that  wholesome,  she  moved  again.  Thisps  what 
a  pagan  mother  did.  She  tried  to  give  fer  child 
the  right  environment,  the  right  atmosphere.  I 
cannot  but  feel  that  the  greatest  work  the  Church 
can  do  to-day  is  atmospheric. 

What  is  needed  to-day  in  our  land  more  than 
anything  else  is  a  holy  crusade  for  the  reinforce¬ 
ment  of  the  family  and  of  the  principles  on  which 
a  true  family  life  is  built.  I  am  down  on 
Bolshevism  because  it  is  the  sworn  enemy  of  the 
family.  Some  preachers  are  emphasizing  the 
social  gospel  and  some  the  ethicizing  of  economics 
and  some  international  peace  and  some  the  broth¬ 
erhood  of  man.  Some  are  perfect  faddists  on 
what  they  call  the  Fundamentals.  But  the  one 
institution  in  which  all  these  aims  can  be 
engendered  and  fostered  is  the  Christian  family. 
The  criminal  question  to-day  we  know  is  largely  a 


Ifs  ©ur  JFamilp  %\ te  a  jfaiture?  *39 


question  of  the  home.  Our  judges  are  constantly 
reminding  us  of  that,  that  the  majority  of  our 
criminals  are  mere  boys.  Some  one  has  said  that 
the  most  important  bit  of  news  in  any  morning 
paper  is  the  column  headed  ‘  ‘  Births,  ’  ’  far  more 
important  than  the  speeches  in  the  Senate.  The 
true  riches  of  the  world  is  in  its  babies.  “Their 
little  veins  are  the  true  veins  of  wealth.”  And 
there  are  100,000  of  them  born  every  day ! 
Thirty-six  million  a  year.  What  a  transfusion 
of  freshness  and  renewal  to  a  sick  and  tired 
world ! 

Every  little  while  we  have  the  question  dis¬ 
cussed,  Is  marriage  a  failure?  Certainly  a  dis¬ 
couraging  lot  of  them  are  tragic  failures.  It  is 
claimed  that  90%  of  all  the  children  in  our  Re¬ 
form  schools  are  the  children  of  parents  who  are 
not  living  together.  Two  little  boys  were  play¬ 
ing  together  in  Newport  last  summer.  One 
said:  “Hello;  there  goes  my  new  papa.” 
“Humph,”  said  the  other,  “he’s  nothing;  he  was 
my  papa  once.” 

Marriage  for  money  is  a  dead  failure.  Mar¬ 
riage  in  haste  is  a  failure.  My  own  associate 
told  me  this  winter  that  he  married  a  couple  at 
8,  and  at  11  (three  hours  later)  they  both  re¬ 
turned  saying  they  felt  they  had  made  a  mistake 
and  asking  if  the  union  could  not  be  annulled. 
Marriage  as  a  trial  trip  is  a  failure.  Marriage 
to  be  dissolved  when  “I’m  tired  of  your  com- 


*40  Ifs  ©ur  jfamUg  %itc  a  jf  allure? 


pany”  is  a  failure.  But  marriage  founded  on 
true  love,  never.  There  is  nothing  sweeter  this 
side  of  Paradise  than  two  young  loving  hearts 
living  in  a  cozy  nest  they  call  their  home.  I  sat 
for  years  in  a  simple  country  church  every  Sab¬ 
bath  morning,  and  out  of  the  old-fashioned  win¬ 
dows  I  would  gaze  for  hours  at  the  leaning 
tombstones  and  the  old  graveyard  where  the  dust 
of  my  fathers  rested.  It  is  a  beautiful  spot  and 
sacred.  It  is  more  sacred  now  than  ever.  But 
the  most  sacred  place  of  all  is  the  old  home.  No 
great  cathedral,  no  grand  scene  in  nature  can 
ever  be  what  that  home  was  when  the  world  was 
young — when  roses  bloomed  and  cherries  ripened 
and  I  was  a  boy.  As  I  look  back  upon  it  now 
it  is  filled  with  very  fragrant  memories.  It  re¬ 
minds  one  of  taking  a  walk  into  the  country 
these  autumn  days.  One  is  besieged  on  every 
side  with  gorgeous  colour  and  the  tender  tribute 
of  the  falling  leaves. 

In  these  good  old  times  there  was  an  institu¬ 
tion  called  the  Family  Altar.  To-day  I  much 
fear — if  the  truth  must  be  told — it  will  have  to 
be  confessed  that  this  holy  shrine  has  about 
tumbled  into  ruins.  And  it  is  the  greatest  blow 
the  Church  has  yet  sustained.  Perhaps  the 
cause  of  true  religion  has  never  received  a  blow 
as  serious;  for  nothing  can  take  its  place  in  the 
economy  of  Christian  training — nothing.  It  has 
been  a  veritable  nursery  of  greatness,  and  the 


11s  Onv  %\ fe  a  failure?  m 


loss  is  simply  past  computing.  The  family  altar 
has  made  preachers ;  it  has  made  missionaries ;  it 
has  made  strong  citizens.  A  strong  navy  is  not 
America’s  defense.  Forts  do  not  defend  any 
more.  We  are  learning  that  the  great  siege  guns 
can  tear  to  slivers  all  the  granite  and  concrete 
round  Gibraltar.  The  weapons  of  our  warfare 
are  not  carnal;  they  are  spiritual.  And  one  of 
the  greatest  spiritual  weapons  we  can  wield  is 
the  weapon  of  family  prayer.  Nothing  strength¬ 
ens  the  home  life  like  it ;  nothing  so  sweetens  it 
either.  It  softens  all  friction.  Hearts  that  kneel 
at  God’s  feet  every  morning  cannot  get  very  far 
apart  during  the  day.  It  is  the  very  perfume  of 
the  place.  It  weaves  into  the  fabric  of  memory 
silver  threads  that  remain  bright  and  shining 
forever.  There  is  no  better  way  to  bind  the  heart 
of  a  child  with  chains  of  gold  to  the  throne  above. 
It  is  the  altar  after  all  that  makes  the  place  a 
sanctuary.  Dr.  Dale  used  to  say  that  every 
Christian  church  should  be  an  institution  to  ren¬ 
der  adult  conversions  needless.  That  is  what 
every  home  should  be.  The  Church  is  ever  pray¬ 
ing  for  a  revival.  Let  her  keep  on  praying. 
When  it  comes  it  will  begin  at  the  hearthstone. 

Some  years  ago  a  missionary  who  had  been  in 
China  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  returned  to 
America  on  his  first  furlough.  He  landed  in 
San  Francisco.  The  editor  of  a  great  daily  sent 
a  reporter  to  interview  him  after  he  had  been  a 


J42  ITs  Onx  Xife  a  ffaiiure? 


month  in  the  country,  lecturing  and  preaching  up 
and  down  the  Pacific  coast.  One  question  asked 
by  the  reporter  was,  What  particular  changes 
have  you  observed  in  America  since  you  left  five 
and  twenty  years  ago?  His  answer  was,  “The 
greatest  change  I  have  noted  is  that  hotel  life  is 
taking  the  place  of  home  life.  ’  ’  It  is  one  of  the 
most  unhopeful  commentaries  on  our  American 
life. 


XIII 

PREPAREDNESS 


OME  years  ago  the  word  was 
much  in  vogue.  The  country 
was  stirred  to  a  high  pitch  of 
fever  heat  when  it  was  learned 
how  wretchedly  prepared  we 
were  for  a  possible  call  to  arms. 
We  were  told  that  we  were  in  danger  and  must 
prepare.  The  word  had  a  sinister  sound.  It  was 
a  bugle  cry.  It  had  a  warlike  note,  and  in  war  it 
is  a  rule  to  be  ready  and  to  have  your  “guns 
pointed  toward  the  enemy.” 

But  preparation  does  not  always  argue 
danger.  Sometimes  we  need  preparation  for  our 
joys  full  as  much  as  for  our  sorrows,  sometimes 
more.  “Many  a  Parsifal  is  able  to  unhorse  his 
enemy  and  yet  blunders  irretrievably  when  he 
sees  the  vision  of  the  Holy  Grail. 5  ’  How  often  it 
happens  that  we  are  prepared  to  meet  the  evil 
when  we  are  not  prepared  at  all  to  meet  the  good ! 
It  was  thus  that  Jacob  was  taken  by  surprise; 
“Surely  Jehovah  is  in  this  place  and  I  knew  it 
not.” 

One  would  not  be  far  wrong  in  saying  that  the 

*43 


IPreparetmess 


J  44- 


keynote  of  the  Bible  is  this  word  prepare.  That 
is  what  life  is;  it  is  a  preparation.  Our  chief 
business  down  here  is  to  get  ready  for  something 
else,  something  further  on.  Only  the  far-off- 
future  phase  of  the  matter  has  been  overworked. 
There  is  much  in  the  good  Book,  to  be  sure,  about 
preparation  for  the  next  life,  but  there  is  even 
more  about  preparation  for  this  life.  It  is  a 
cardinal  mistake,  fathered  largely  by  the  old 
divines,  to  suppose  that  great  preparation  is 
needed  to  meet  death.  There  is  nothing  in  death 
to  terrify  us.  Ten  million  lads  met  death 
in  the  Great  War.  They  were  not  afraid.  Why 
should  we  be?  They  have  taken  out  of  death  a 
good  deal  of  its  sting.  As  Harry  Lauder  re¬ 
marked,  4 ‘Why  should  I  be  afraid  to  go  where 
my  John  went?”  We  face  death  but  once;  we 
are  facing  life  every  day.  It  is  life  that  is  the 
big  thing  not  death.  One  does  not  need  to  die  to 
experience  eternity :  we  are  experiencing  eternity 
now. 

This  is  the  clear  concurrent  testimony  of  the 
Old  Testament.  All  the  voices  are  of  one  mind 
on  this  score.  Instance  Amos.  Amos  is  the  old¬ 
est  of  the  prophets  whose  writings  have  come 
down  to  us.  He  is  the  first  of  the  so-called  minor 
prophets,  minor  that  is,  not  in  the  qualitative 
but  in  the  quantitative  sense.  They  wrote 
less  than  the  others;  in  that  sense  only  are 
they  minors.  In  this  particular  prophecy  there 


Preparedness 


*45 


is  no  mention  of  the  next  world  at  all.  What 
Amos  was  concerned  about  was  this  world,  this 
present  world,  this  present  evil  world  as  Paul 
labelled  it.  It  is  not  eternity  he  is  thinking  of 
but  time.  His  message  is  a  “  Tract  for  the 
Times.’  ’ 

Take  just  one  of  his  trumpet  blasts,  “  Prepare 
to  meet  thy  God,  0  Israel.”  The  warning  is  not 
spoken  to  an  individual:  it  is  addressed  to  the 
nation.  “0  Israel,”  he  repeatedly  says.  All 
through  the  prophecy  it  is  “  Ye  people  of  Israel” 
or  “ye  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem.”  It  is  to  the 
country  as  a  whole  that  he  makes  his  stirring 
appeal.  The  whole  land  was  morally  corrupt. 
The  poor  were  oppressed  and  the  needy  were 
crushed.  It  was  a  world  packed  with  every  kind 
of  wrong.  The  wealthy  indulged  in  their  drunken 
orgies  stretched  on  ivory  divans,  singing  their 
lewd  and  flashy  songs.  He  saw  the  merchants 
using  false  weights.  There  was  no  justice  in  the 
land.  The  poor  were  exploited,  the  market-place 
was  filled  with  trickery.  He  saw  greed  rampant 
on  every  side.  Religion  was  a  gilded  sham. 
Vice  was  coupled  with  the  worship  of  Jehovah. 
Women  were  attached  to  the  sanctuary.  The 
world  that  Amos  knew  was  a  rotten  world,  “a 
world  that  trampled  on  the  fundamental  sancti¬ 
ties  of  pity  for  the  dying  and  respect  for  the 
dead.  ’  ’  It  was  cruel  to  the  poor  and  that,  in  his 
mind,  was  the  cardinal  iniquity.  Their  lives 


U6 


preparedness 


were  bartered  for  dirty  dividends  and  it  stirred 
bis  clean  red  blood.  It  is  to  a  land  in  this 
scandalous  condition  that  the  prophet  peals  out 
his  blast  of  warning.  Every  one  of  these  holy 
men  of  old  thunders  about  righteousness  but 
Amos  hardly  speaks  of  anything  else.  His  gospel 
is  a  great  social  gospel.  God  is  at  the  basis  of  all 
morality.  The  prophet’s  whole  message  is  a  call 
to  a  better  citizenship. 

Some  one  has  said  that  the  personality  of  Amos 
is  built  of  granite,  Aberdeen  granite.  He  was  a 
man  with  a  tremendous  conscience  and  it  might 
sometimes  appear  that  his  stern,  rugged,  Puritan 
nature  would  make  him  cold  and  hard  to  the 
tender  and  the  beautiful.  But  not  so !  He  loved 
the  country,  the  hills  and  the  brooks  and  the 
meadows.  He  was  a  simple  shepherd  lad  who 
had  always  lived  a  quiet  pastoral  life  caring  for 
his  flocks  and  his  herds.  He  was  a  staunch  apos¬ 
tle  of  the  simple  life,  loving  the  great  silences. 
In  all  his  utterances  there  is  the  breeze  of  the 
hills  and  the  freshness  of  the  mountain  air.  He 
was  not  a  man  of  what  we  to-day  call  culture. 
He  was  not  a  graduate  of  any  school.  He  was 
not  a  professor  in  a  theological  seminary.  He 
was  indeed  an  unlettered  man.  He  did  not  write 
the  polished  language  that  Isajah  wrote.  He 
makes  mistakes  in  grammar  and  syntax.  He  had 
never  been  trained  for  the  priesthood.  He  was 
not  even  an  ordained  prophet.  ‘  ‘  Then  answered 


preparedness 


J47 


Amos  and  said  to  Amaziah,  I  am  no  prophet, 
neither  am  I  one  of  the  sons  of  the  prophets;  I 
am  simply  a  herdsman  and  a  dresser  of  sycamore 
trees.  And  the  Lord  took  me  from  following  the 
flock  and  then  he  said  unto  me,  go  prophesy 
unto  my  people  Israel.’ ’ 

And  yet  the  man’s  words  are  quivering  with 
eloquence  and  fervour  and  splendid  moral  dis¬ 
dain.  His  little  book  is  rich  in  imagery  and  deft 
turns  of  expression.  If  he  was  not  an  ordained 
prophet  he  most  surely  was  an  ordained  poet. 
How  many  beautiful  lines  from  the  lips  of  this 
old  Hebrew  herdsman  are  familiar  to  us!  He 
speaks  of  the  earthquake  heaving  up  the  land. 
He  notes  the  basket  of  summer  fruit.  He  speaks 
of  turning  the  shadow  of  death  into  the  morning 
and  of  making  the  day  dark  with  night.  “Ye 
were  as  a  firebrand  plucked  from  the  burning”  is 
another  of  his  immortal  phrases.  Speaking  of 
their  public  worship,  he  says,  “I  hate  your 
feasts,  I  take  no  delight  in  your  solemn  assem¬ 
blies.  Take  away  from  me  the  noise  of  your 
songs.”  One  commentator  observes  that  it  is 
somewhat  humiliating  to  think  that  what  we  call 
classical  music  may  be  only  noise  in  God’s  ears. 
1 1  Can  two  walk  together  except  they  be  agreed  ?  ’  ’ 
is  one  of  his  classic  questions.  Who  can  doubt 
that  this  son  of  the  sheepfold  was  a  genuinely 
ordained  poet? 

Now  the  world  of  our  day  is  not  altogether  un- 


J48  preparedness 


like  the  world  of  Amos’  day.  We,  too,  are  on 
the  verge  of  a  bran-new  social  order.  “The 
whole  creation  is  groaning.”  For  onrs  is  a 
tragically  wounded  world,  torn  with  terrible  sor¬ 
rows  and  washed  with  woeful  sins.  We  are 
tossed  about  in  the  storm.  There  is  a  movement 
going  on  for  the  bringing  in  of  a  better  state  of 
things.  It  is  an  international  movement.  Its 
aim  is  not  merely  to  alleviate  the  condition  of  the 
poor;  it  purposes  to  touch  rich  and  poor.  How 
to  drive  out  all  the  evils  of  the  old  system.  To 
be  a  citizen  of  the  Kingdom  of  God  does  not  ab¬ 
solve  us  from  the  duties  and  obligations  of  Amer¬ 
ican  citizenship.  The  state  is  divine  just  as 
truly  as  the  Church.  The  state  exists  to  train  up 
good  citizens.  It  is  God’s  will  that  there  should 
be  righteous  government  and  not  anarchy.  Some 
think  the  new  program  can  be  established  by 
force.  Others  argue  that  force  will  only  bring 
back  all  the  evils  it  strives  to  overthrow.  The 
question  is,  how  to  prepare  the  way  for  a  better 
society ;  how  to  lay  the  foundation  for  the  build¬ 
ing  of  a  better  world.  And  there  are  two  voices 
clamouring  to  be  heard.  One  says,  Improve 
men’s  conditions  and  you  will  better  their  lives. 
The  other  replies,  Improve  their  lives  and  you 
will  better  their  conditions.  But  the  thought 
arises,  why  may  not  both  voices  be  true?  We 
cannot  afford  to  ignore  the  social  and  physical 
and  illiterate  condition  of  the  ignorant  and  down- 


preparedness 


U9 


trodden  and  criminal  classes.  But  if  we  aim  at 
nothing  more  than  material  betterment  and  si¬ 
lence  the  spiritual  note,  are  we  going  to  see  ful¬ 
filled  the  happy  ideal  for  which  we  hope  and 
pray?  Millions  to-day  are  accepting  the  teach¬ 
ing  of  Karl  Marx  that  men  are  nothing  but  ani¬ 
mals  and  that  the  only  real  pleasures  are  the 
pleasures  of  the  flesh.  “We  must  destroy  the 
last  vestige  of  God  and  religion/  ’  says  Marx. 
The  logical  result  of  this  philosophy  is  suicidal; 
it  is  suicidal  for  the  individual  and  for  the  na¬ 
tion.  Both  of  Karl  Marx’s  own  daughters,  and 
his  son-in-law  and  disciple,  Paul  Lafargue,  all 
committed  suicide.  They  advocated  it:  it  was 
part  of  their  propaganda.  Lafargue  planned  the 
date  and  the  method  of  his  own  death  ten  years 
in  advance  and  carried  out  the  program  in  1911 
to  the  letter. 

And  it  is  suicidal  for  the  nation.  It  has  been 
tried.  It  is  being  tried  to-day  in  Russia.  It  was 
tried  centuries  ago  in  some  of  the  republics  of 
Greece  and  in  parts  of  the  old  Roman  Empire. 
There  is  a  book  entitled  “  Where  Socialism 
Failed”  by  Stewart  Grahame.  It  is  the  story  of 
two  brothers  who  emigrated  some  years  ago  from 
Australia  to  South  America  to  form  a  commu¬ 
nity  of  Socialists.  They  took  with  them  a  colony 
of  several  hundred  men  with  their  wives  and 
families.  The  men  were  the  pick  of  the  working 
classes  of  New  South  Wales.  The  Paraguay 


J50 


preparedness 


Government  had  transferred  to  them,  free  and 
unincumbered,  600  square  miles  of  fertile  land, 
as  well  as  great  herds  of  cattle  and  sheep.  Para¬ 
guay,  it  will  be  remembered,  at  one  time  had 
been  a  prosperous  country.  It  was  the  first 
country  in  South  America  to  have  a  railroad. 
But  the  mad  ambitions  of  an  autocrat  had 
brought  ruin  to  the  land.  And  the  ruling  powers 
felt  that  if  some  fresh  blood  were  brought  into 
their  country  to  develop  their  industries,  it  might 
mean  the  return  of  better  things.  So  about  400 
Socialists  from  New  South  Wales  accepted  the 
tender,  and  sailed  in  1893  to  settle  in  their  new 
Canaan  and  work  out  their  system  of  communism 
on  a  sort  of  semi-national  scale.  They  were  to 
be  given  perfect  freedom  of  government  and 
education  and  religion.  As  far  as  religion  was 
concerned,  there  was  to  be  none.  One  of  the  ar¬ 
ticles  of  incorporation  of  the  colony  was  that  the 
Deity  was  to  be  excluded  from  any  participation 
in  its  affairs.  God  was  not  to  be  recognized. 
The  sequel  to  this  experiment  is  a  familiar  story : 
it  has  often  been  told,  how  envy  and  jealousy  and 
hatred  crept  into  the  little  paradise,  how  they  all 
got  to  quarrelling,  and  how  in  the  end  they  drove 
their  leader,  William  Lane,  out  of  the  country. 
Coming  back  to  Australia  with  a  few  who  had 
remained  faithful,  the  interesting  part  of  his 
experience  was  his  conviction  that  it  was  not 
possible  to  run  a  society,  as  long  as  people  are 


IPreparefcness 


*5J 


constituted  as  they  are,  without  some  sort  of  re¬ 
ligion.  Listen  to  his  words,  “  Under  pure  mate¬ 
rialism  with  no  lofty  ideal  for  a  guiding  motive, 
a  people  will  deteriorate ;  there  must  be  a  divine 
imperative.  ’  ’ 

It  certainly  was  an  astonishing  pronouncement 
and  all  the  more  astonishing  that  it  was  the  sober 
conclusion  of  a  personal  adventure.  Can  men  be 
governed  without  God?  Amos  did  not  think 
they  could.  And  those  who  have  tried  the  ex¬ 
periment  agree.  The  heart  of  the  social  problem 
as  of  every  other  problem  is  the  human  heart. 
The  brotherhood  of  man  is  a  powerless  truth  if 
there  be  no  divine  Fatherhood.  The  salvation  of 
society  is  not  simply  an  economic  question ;  it  is 
a  moral  question ;  it  is  a  spiritual  question. 

What  then  can  be  done,  it  will  be  asked,  what 
can  be  done  to  assist  in  bringing  in  a  new  and 
better  order?  Can  anything  be  done?  Yes  in¬ 
deed,  much;  several  things  are  possible.  We 
can,  for  one  thing,  prepare  ourselves.  We  can 
keep  our  own  individual  name  unspotted.  There 
is  nothing  that  a  true  patriot  can  leave  behind 
him  that  can  be  compared  for  one  little  moment 
to  a  good  name.  That  is  a  big  part  of  pure  re¬ 
ligion.  The  richest  contribution  that  any  man 
can  offer  to  his  country  is  to  give  to  it  the  right 
kind  of  a  life.  One  Savonarola  saved  wicked 
Florence.  One  Aristides  lifted  Athens  higher 
perceptibly.  Ten  righteous  men  would  have 


*52 


preparedness 


saved  Sodom.  And  what  is  going  to  save  Amer¬ 
ica  is  a  glorious  company  of  noble  men.  Good 
men  are  the  salt  of  the  earth.  Good  men  are  the 
light  of  the  world.  They  are  the  key  to  the 
problem. 

Another  thing!  We  can  insist  that  our  nation 
put  the  emphasis  on  the  simple  things.  We  must 
needs  get  back  to  nature,  as  Amos  did,  and  learn 
to  drink  her  milk  of  joy.  We  must  return  to  the 
simple  wants  of  the  human  heart.  So  many  have 
lost  the  sense  that  the  really  great  things,  the  en¬ 
during  things,  lie  in  the  common  gifts  that  are  all 
about  us.  The  satisfying  joys  and  pleasures  are 
scattered  broadcast  within  the  reach  of  all. 

“How  good  is  man’s  life  the  mere  living!  how  fit  to 
employ 

All  the  heart  and  the  soul  and  the  senses  forever  in 
joy.” 

Perhaps  there  never  was  as  much  extravagance 
rampant  as  there  is  to-day.  Never  were  luxuries 
in  such  demand!  A  prominent  foreigner  visit¬ 
ing  our  country  some  months  ago  remarked  that 
the  waste  in  our  hotels  was  cause  for  pain.  The 
Secretary  of  the  National  Jewellers  '  Board  of 
Trade  said  recently,  “  We  cannot  find  enough  ex¬ 
pensive  stones  to  fill  our  orders.”  Millions 
abroad  are  freezing  and  starving:  they  haven't 
enough  clothing  to  cover  their  emaciated  bodies 
and  protect  them  from  the  winter's  blast.  Half 


©repare&ness 


*53 


the  babies  in  Central  Europe  are  hungry.  And 
yet  in  our  land  to-day  there  is  a  perfect  sinful 
orgy  of  waste.  There  is  an  absorption  in  pleas¬ 
ure.  The  American  people  are  amusement  mad, 
money  mad,  luxury  mad.  There  is  a  selfish  dis¬ 
regard  of  public  interest.  And  it  is  the  sure  and 
certain  road  to  national  decay. 

Some  years  ago  a  very  remarkable  will  was 
discovered.  It  was  written  by  an  insane  man  in 
a  lunatic  asylum  and  was  found  in  his  portfolio 
after  his  death.  The  will  was  first  published  in 
Harper’s  Weekly,  September  3,  1898.  It  was 
entitled  “My  last  Will  and  Testament.”  Its  au¬ 
thor,  Williston  Fish,  was  a  graduate  of  West 
Point  and  later  a  lawyer  in  Chicago.  It  reads  as 
follows : 

“My  right  to  live,  being  but  a  life  estate,  is  not 
at  my  disposal,  but,  these  things  excepted,  all  else 
in  the  world  I  now  proceed  to  devise  and  be¬ 
queath.  I  give  to  the  good  fathers  and  mothers, 
in  trust  for  their  children,  all  good  little  words 
of  praise  and  encouragement,  all  quaint  pet 
names  and  endearments,  and  I  charge  the  said 
parents  to  use  them  generously,  as  the  needs  of 
the  children  require.  I  leave  the  children  for 
the  term  of  their  childhood  the  flowers,  fields, 
blossoms  and  woods,  with  the  right  to  play  in 
them,  warning  them  at  the  same  time  against 
thistles  and  thorns.  I  devise  to  the  children  the 
banks,  the  brooks,  and  the  golden  sands  beneath 
the  waters  thereof,  and  the  white  clouds  that  float 
over  the  giant  trees  ;  and  I  leave  to  the  children. 


*54 


preparedness 


long,  long  days  to  be  merry  in,  and  the  night  and 
the  moon  and  the  train  of  the  Milky  Way  to  won¬ 
der  at. 

“I  devise  to  the  boys  jointly  all  the  useful  idle 
fields,  all  the  pleasant  waters  where  one  may 
swim,  all  the  streams  where  one  may  fish,  or 
where,  when  grim  winter  comes,  one  may  skate, 
to  have  and  to  hold  the  same  for  the  period  of 
their  boyhood.  The  meadows,  with  the  clover, 
blossoms,  and  butterflies  thereof ;  the  woods  and 
their  appurtenances-— squirrels,  birds,  echoes, 
and  strange  noises ;  all  the  distant  places  which 
may  be  visited,  together  with  the  adventures 
there  to  be  found.  I  give  to  the  said  boys  each 
his  own  place  by  the  fireside  at  night,  with  all  the 
pictures  that  may  be  seen  in  the  burning  wood, 
to  enjoy  without  let  or  hindrance  and  without 
any  incumbrance  or  care. 

“To  lovers  I  devise  their  imaginary  world, 
with  whatever  they  may  need,  as  stars,  sky,  red 
roses  by  the  wall,  the  bloom  of  the  hawthorn,  the 
sweet  strains  of  music,  and  aught  else  they  may 
desire.  To  young  men  I  bequeath  all  boisterous 
and  inspiring  sports  and  rivalry,  and  I  give  to 
them  disdain  of  weakness  and  undaunted  confi¬ 
dence  in  their  own  strength.  I  give  them  power 
to  make  lasting  friendships  and  prepossessing 
companions,  and  to  them  exclusively  I  give  all 
merry  songs  and  brave  choruses. 

“To  those  who  are  no  longer  children  or 
youths  or  lovers  I  leave  memory,  and  bequeath 
them  the  volumes  of  the  poems  of  Burns,  Shake¬ 
speare,  and  other  poets,  and  to  live  over  their  old 
days  again  without  any  tithe  or  deduction  of  any 
kind. 

“To  the  loved  ones  with  snowy  crowns  I  be- 


preparedness 


J55 


queath  peace,  old  age,  the  love  and  gratitude  of 
their  children,  until  they  fall  asleep.  ’  ’ 

Some  one  has  observed,  “I  do  not  know  how 
mad  this  man  was,  but  surely  our  land  needs 
to-day  a  little  of  his  madness.  ’ ’ 

One  thing  more  is  clamouring  for  expression, 
and  that  is,  to  put  the  emphasis  as  a  people  upon 
a  life  of  service.  A  gentleman  of  leisure  re¬ 
marked  recently,  evidently  without  considering 
what  an  incriminating  confession  it  was,  “Well, 
if  I  were  to  die  to-morrow,  I  Ve  had  my  share  of 
the  world’s  fun. ’ ’  How  poor  and  mean  and  piti¬ 
ful  such  a  life  will  seem  some  day!  As  Bishop 
Brooks  says,  “It  is  not  when  the  ship  is  fretting 
against  the  dock  that  she  learns  her  true  life ;  it 
is  when  the  rope  that  ties  her  to  the  pier  is  let 
go  and  she  plunges  into  the  channel  and  points 
her  nose  to  the  great  ocean — then  it  is  that  she 
finds  her  true  life.”  And  it  is  not  when  we  are 
hugging  the  shore  of  human  shelter  and  living 
our  little  landlocked  lives  that  we  find  our  lib¬ 
erty.  We  were  built  for  the  ocean.  The  great 
wide  waste  of  human  need  is  calling  us  and  no 
man  truly  finds  himself  until  he  hears  and 
obeys  that  call  divine.  Our  country  to-day  has 
many  enemies  to  fight.  We  have  selfish  capital¬ 
ists  and  violent  agitators  and  heartless  profiteers. 
There  are  men  in  our  midst,  it  must  be  confessed, 
who  do  not  hesitate  to  wrap  the  flag  around  their 


i56 


preparefcness 


selfish  bodies  and  then  proceed  to  rob  and  plun¬ 
der  the  poor  just  as  they  did  in  Amos’  day. 
These  men  are  highway  robbers.  They  are  mak¬ 
ing  more  Bolsheviks  than  any  red  propaganda 
from  Petrograd.  Sometimes  we  ask  ourselves 
who  is  the  real  traitor?  According  to  our  Con¬ 
stitution  treason  against  the  United  States  con¬ 
sists  in  levying  war  against  our  Government  or  in 
giving  aid  or  comfort  to  the  enemy.  But  are 
there  not  other  forms  of  hostility  just  as  damag¬ 
ing  ?  A  traitor  is  one  who  betrays  a  trust.  And 
isn’t  service  to  our  flag  these  critical  days,  isn’t 
that  a  sacred  trust? 

When  the  Great  War  was  at  its  height  we 
watched  with  admiring  interest  the  men  who 
gave  their  lives  and  labours  to  the  Government. 
They  went  to  Washington  and  worked  for  a  dol¬ 
lar  a  year.  Some  of  them  toiled  in  lowly  sta¬ 
tions.  They  did  it  out  of  love  for  their  country. 
They  were  men  of  means  and  their  loyalty  and 
patriotism  was  as  large  as  their  purses.  But 
now  that  the  war  is  over  these  men  have  gone 
back  to  make  more  money  and  pile  up  still  big¬ 
ger  fortunes.  But,  man,  is  not  your  fortune 
ample  enough?  Is  it  not  larger  really  than  you 
need  ?  Is  it  not  about  as  much  as  you  can  serenely 
manage?  Why  toil  and  sweat  for  more?  Why 
not  show  in  peace  a  little  of  that  splendid  sacri¬ 
fice  that  you  showed  in  war?  There  are  many 
who  feel  that  there  never  would  have  been  a  war 


IPreparefcness 


*57 


if  strong  men  of  influence  and  gifts  had  realized 
their  social  and  political  responsibility  and  ar¬ 
ticulated  it  in  action.  Some  one  has  observed 
that  we  were  never  so  magnificent  as  in  war  and 
never  so  mean  as  in  peace.  Why  not  cut  down 
some  of  your  office  work  and  give  the  Church  a 
little  of  your  time  ?  Why  not  give  the  hospitals 
a  little  of  your  time  ?  Why  not  give  your  family 
a  little  more  of  your  time?  Why  not  give  the 
State  a  little  more  of  your  time?  Some  years 
ago  when  Kossuth  was  in  this  country  he  made  a 
rather  striking  statement :  ‘  ^  If  shipwreck  should 
ever  befall  us  as  a  nation,  the  rock  on  which  it 
would  split  would  be  our  devotion  to  our  private 
interests  at  the  expense  of  the  Republic. 9  ’ 

**  When  all  the  choric  peal  shall  end, 

That  through  the  fanes  hath  rung; 

When  the  long  lauds  no  more  ascend 
From  man’s  adoring  tongue; 

“  When  whelmed  are  altar,  priest,  and  creed ; 
When  all  the  faiths  have  passed; 

Perhaps,  from  darkening  incense  freed, 

God  may  emerge  at  last.” 


XIV 

SPLITTING  HAIRS 


EARLY  all  the  troubles  that 
have  afflicted  the  Church  have 
been  questions  of  splitting 
hairs.  Theologians  have  been 
adepts  in  the  art  of  hair-split¬ 
ting,  and  a  great  army  of 
bigots  has  followed  in  their  train.  In  the  auto¬ 
biography  of  Mark  Rutherford  there  is  a  very 
delightful  chapter  on  the  Dorcas  meetings  in  his 
parish.  Once  a  month  the  wives  and  daughters 
drank  tea  with  each  other  and  the  evening  was 
devoted  to  making  clothes  for  the  poor.  The 
minister  was  expected  to  read  to  them  while  they 
worked.  As  the  work  was  somewhat  secular,  it 
was  not  considered  necessary  that  the  passages 
selected  for  reading  should  be  from  the  Bible, 
but  as  the  meeting  was  a  church  meeting  it  was 
felt  that  they  should  have  a  religious  flavour,  so 
that  books  on  topics  altogether  worldly  were  not 
regarded  as  apropos.  In  fact  the  readings  were 
usually  from  the  denominational  journal.  It 
was  perfectly  legitimate  to  read  the  births  and 
deaths  and  marriages  from  this  journal,  although 

158 


Splitting  ftmivs 


*59 


it  would  not  have  been  thought  right  to  read 
them  from  the  morning  newspaper.  It  was 
agreed  1  i  with  a  fineness  of  discrimination  which 
was  very  remarkable  ”  that  it  was  quite  right 
to  read  them  in  a  paper  that  was  “  serious/  ’ 
On  one  occasion  Mark  started  the  “  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,”  but  after  getting  through  a  chapter 
the  company  voted  that  it  would  be  better  if  it 
were  discontinued.  On  another  occasion  he  tried 
a  selection  from  George  Fox’s  Journal,  but  this 
was  objected  to  also  on  the  ground  that  ‘  ‘  he  did 
not  belong  to  us.” 

I  can  well  remember  how  in  my  own  child¬ 
hood  home,  cards  were  tabooed  with  a  stern  and 
holy  horror.  But  we  children  had  another  set, 
in  which  the  king  was  pictured  as  a  rugged 
farmer,  his  buxom  wife  was  the  quben ;  and  in¬ 
stead  of  spades  and  hearts  and  clubs  and 
diamonds  there  were  potatoes  and  turnips  and 
apples  and  corn.  It  was  a  fine  subtle  distinction. 
We  played  the  game  in  just  the  same  way,  only 
it  was  the  ace  of  spuds  instead  of  spades.  A 
violin  was  not  permitted  around  our  fireside. 
It  was  in  those  days  an  instrument  of  unright¬ 
eousness.  We  were  allowed  the  jew’s-harp  and 
the  chanter  but  not  the  fiddle.  Among  the  story 
writers  only  Sir  Walter  was  in  paternal  favour. 
Although  Burns  sat  on  the  table  side  by  side 
with  Bunyan. 

One  of  the  severest  criticisms  of  the  Master 


160 


Splitting  Dairs 


was  when  He  called  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  to 
task  for  magnifying  trifles.  “  Ye  blind  guides, 
ye  tithe  mint  and  anise  and  cummin  but  ye  for¬ 
get  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law.”  They 
were  strangely  meticulous  about  sifting  out  the 
small,  the  picayune,  the  minute,  while  in  the 
same  breath  they  gulped  down  the  large,  the 
ponderous,  the  important.  “  You  strain  out  the 
gnat  and  you  swallow  the  camel.  ’  ’  Think  of  the 
way  these  old  scribes  treated  the  Sabbath.  Con¬ 
sider  the  mountain  of  petty  observances.  They 
knew  every  letter  of  the  law.  They  had  a  thou¬ 
sand  traditions  to  uphold  concerning  it.  They 
were  idolaters  of  details.  A  knot  which  could 
be  untied  with  one  hand  might  be  untied  on  the 
seventh  day  of  the  week,  but  if  it  required  both 
hands  it  was  unlawful.  Two  thousand  cubits 
was  a  Sabbath  day’s  journey  but  2,001  was  for¬ 
bidden.  It  was  a  sin  to  carry  a  burden,  they 
argued.  And  when  the  question  arose,  how 
much  is  a  burden?  they  answered  it  by  saying 
that  a  loaf  of  bread  was  a  burden :  two 
might  carry  it  but  not  one.  It  was  so  written 
in  the  Mishna  and  the  Gemara.  There  were 
three  and  thirty  different  ways  in  which 
the  holy  day  could  be  profaned.  There  were 
more  than  fifty  varieties  of  mint  and  anise 
and  cummin  which  had  to  be  carefully  tithed. 
Righteousness  was  a  question  of  rules  and  regula¬ 
tions.  It  was  a  matter  of  etiquette.  The  trivial 


Splitting  feairs 


\6\ 


things  were  the  important  things.  Fasts  and 
feasts  and  washing  cups  and  platters,  and  trac¬ 
ing  genealogies  to  prove  the  directness  of  their 
descent  from  Abraham — these  were  the  topics 
that  concerned  them  most.  It  was  much  ado 
about  nothing.  The  whole  tragic  sophistry  is 
familiar. 

In  that  little  volume  by  William  Lyons  Phelps 
on  “  Reading  the  Bible  ”  there  is  a  story  told 
of  his  childhood:  “  One  day  by  mere  chance  I 
hit  upon  an  expedient  that  helped  me  to  re¬ 
member  the  Bible  stories.  I  was  drawing  pic¬ 
tures.  My  prolonged  and  unusual  silence  in  the 
room  aroused  the  interest  of  my  mother : 
1  What  are  you  doing  there?  ’  ‘  Drawing  pic¬ 
tures,  Mother.7  ‘  But  don’t  you  know  this  is 
Sunday  and  you  must  not  draw  pictures  on  Sun¬ 
day.’  Suddenly  I  remembered  the  Bible. 
*  But,  Mother,  it  ’ll  be  all  right  to  draw  Bible 
pictures,  won ’t  it  ?  ’  She  turned  the  suggestion 
up  and  down  in  her  mind  and  found  it  good.  I 
therefore  set  to  work  and  after  another  period 
of  silence  I  proudly  exhibited  to  her  a  soldier 
armed  to  the  teeth  literally,  for  in  addition  to 
gun  and  pistol  he  had  a  large  knife  in  his  mouth. 

‘  Didn’t  I  tell  you  not  to - ’  ‘  But,  Mother, 

this  is  Joab  captain  of  the  host  of  Israel.’  ” 
And  so  this  interesting  Sabbatarian  exploit  on 
splitting  hairs  was  evidently  closed  to  the  satis¬ 
faction  of  both  parties. 


*62 


Splitting  ftmirs 


Consider  the  sticklers  for  ceremony  and  ortho¬ 
doxy  that  we  have  with  us  to-day.  Multitudes 
are  still  bound  and  wound  in  the  cerements  of 
ritualism.  The  trouble  with  the  Church  has 
always  been  its  formalism.  The  Pharisees 
marvelled  that  Jesus  ate  without  washing  His 
hands.  Why,  not  to  wash  one’s  hands  before 
eating  was  considered  a  crime  almost  as  flagrant 
as  murder.  But  with  one  master-stroke  He 
swept  away  this  slavery  to  tradition.  And  the 
same  is  true  in  the  matter  of  creeds.  No  better 
illustration  of  skillful  hair-splitting  is  to  be 
found  anywhere  than  in  almost  all  our  creedal 
statements.  The  Council  of  Nice  defined  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  What  an  astonishing 
deliverance  it  is !  Whole  pages  being  devoted  to 
the  distinction  between  omoousioi  and  omoiousioi. 
And  were  the  members  of  this  historic  Council 
models  of  virtue?  Well,  Constantine  was  one 
of  them,  and  this  same  Constantine  put  his  wife 
to  death  and  also  his  son.  The  Westminster 
divines  in  their  “  Confession  ”  gave  us  a  long 
explanatory  chapter  on  foreordination  and  free 
will.  Has  any  honest  unprejudiced  mortal  ever 
understood  it  ?  The  coloured  preacher  said, c  ‘  God 
predestines  man  to  be  saved  and  the  Devil  pre¬ 
destines  man  to  be  lost  and  man  has  the  casting 
vote,”  and  I  rather  think  he  came  as  near  throw¬ 
ing  light  on  the  matter  as  any  of  the  theologians. 
True  religion  is  never  an  occult  and  mystic  thing. 


SpittttnG  Ibairs 


J63 


Why  should  our  tenets  make  it  such?  Why 
should  they  be  so  hopelessly  entangled?  Why 
should  not  a  creed  illumine  a  faith  rather  than 
obscure  it?  If  we  must  have  credenda,  why  not 
insist  on  making  them  brief  and  clear  and  sim¬ 
ple.  An  intricate  faith  in  such  a  world  as  ours 
is  self-condemned. 

Sectarianism  too  is  still  with  us.  True  it  is 
slowly  passing,  although  there  are  many  yet  who 
would  keep  the  old  wounds  open.  These  con¬ 
tinue  to  wax  eloquent  on  their  own  particular 
communion.  As  Joseph  Parker  once  put  it, 
“  Episcopalianism  and  Presbyterianism  and 
Methodism  look  like  solar  systems  to  them/ 7 
Pastor  Thwackum  in  “  Tom  Jones’ ’  says, 
“  When  I  mention  religion  I  mean  the  Christian 
religion  and  not  only  the  Christian  religion  but 
the  Protestant  religion,  and  not  only  the  Prot¬ 
estant  religion  but  the  Church  of  England.” 
The  story  is  an  old  and  troubled  one.  What  an 
unfortunate  chapter  it  has  contributed  to  the 
history  of  the  Church!  “  I  am  of  Paul  and  I 
of  Apollos  and  I  of  Cephas  and  I  of  Christ.” 
We  look  over  the  field  to-day  and  what  a  lamen¬ 
table  confusion  we  see.  The  situation  is  nothing 
less  than  a  tragic  scandal.  If  it  only  made  for 
efficiency  it  would  have  an  argument  for  its 
defense,  but  it  cannot  even  claim  this.  Mr. 
Carroll  tells  us  that  we  have  150  separate  divi¬ 
sions  in  our  own  land.  We  have  groups  named 


/ 


*64 


Splitting  toairs 


after  some  great  leader,  Lutherans,  Calvinists, 
Wesley ans,  Swedenborgians.  We  have  sects  dif¬ 
fering  in  regard  to  the  Christian  ordinances, 
Mennonites,  Friends,  Salvationists,  Christian 
Scientists;  others  in  regard  to  the  Second  Com¬ 
ing.  Certain  bodies  of  Plymouth  Brethren  re¬ 
fused  to  vote  at  the  recent  election  because  they 
said  the  return  of  our  Lord  is  imminent. 
“  What  matters  to  this  world  is  not  important.” 
Christ  prayed  for  His  followers  that  they  all 
might  be  one,  and  yet  we  go  out  to  heathen 
China  and  take  the  book  that  contains  this  prayer 
and  we  preach  several  dozen  different  interpreta¬ 
tions  of  His  teachings.  David  Swing  once  re¬ 
marked  in  his  inimitable  way  that  you  can  gauge 
the  barbarity  of  an  island  by  the  multiplicity  of 
its  tongues.  And  judged  by  that  standard,  how 
barbarous  to  these  poor  Orientals  our  Christi¬ 
anity  must  often  seem  to  be.  Denominationalism 
to-day  must  surely  be  the  most  confusing  fact 
confronting  a  Chinese  seeking  light.  But  the 
days  of  the  sectarian  are  numbered.  We  will 
keep  on  a  little  longer  no  doubt  patching  up  the 
old  fences,  but  they  are  rapidly  getting  beyond 
repair.  Soon,  let  us  hope,  they  will  be  needless 
palisades.  We  will  then  be  relegating  them  as 
curiosities  to  some  strange  museum.  “  Then  we 
shall  become  one  flock,  one  shepherd.” 

Still  again  there  is  the  question  of  inspiration. 
What  quibblers  we  are  there !  How  the  Church 


Splitting  flairs 


165 


has  quarrelled  over  texts !  What  a  slave  she  has 
been  to  the  letter !  There  is  not  a  single  heresy 
that  has  tormented  the  Church  that  has  not  been 
caused  largely  by  a  too  literal  interpretation  of 
the  letter.  We  forget  that  the  letter  killeth. 
We  seem  not  to  realize  that  the  important  thing 
about  the  Bible  is  the  blade,  not  the  scabbard. 
Some  are  fanatics  for  verbal  dictation.  Others 
have  lost  their  sense  of  proportion.  They  would 
insist  that  the  third  chapter  of  Deuteronomy  is 
as  important  as  the  third  of  John.  In  answer 
to  a  question  of  Peter  as  to  how  many  times  we 
should  forgive  our  brother  for  an  offense,  the 
Master  said  seventy  times  seven.  Seventy  times 
seven  is  490.  But  was  this  His  meaning?  Was 
He  speaking  arithmetically  ?  Did  He  mean  that 
we  were  to  be  released  from  any  obligation  to  be 
forgiving  on  the  491st  offense?  Is  the  word  of 
truth  to  be  approached  with  a  tape  measure? 
Are  we  supposed  to  repudiate  our  imagination 
when  we  read  the  book?  What  untold  harm 
the  rigid  literalist  has  done!  He  persists  in 
reading  as  prose  what  was  never  intended  for 
prose.  He  is  always  saying,  I  believe  in  arith¬ 
metic.  He  forgets  that  there  is  a  difference  be¬ 
tween  arithmetic  and  statistics.  He  goes  on  the 
theory  that  nothing  is  true  but  the  problems  of 
mathematics.  But  how  illogical  this  is !  Is  not 
great  poetry  true?  Is  not  great  fiction  true? 
So  many  imagine  that  a  myth  is  a  lie.  And  if 


166 


Splitting  Ibatts 


you  were  to  say  to  them  that  there  were  myths 
in  the  Bible  they  would  be  horrified.  But  a 
myth  is  not  necessarily  a  lie.  What  is  a  myth? 
A  myth  is  a  story  that  has  come  down  to  us  from 
the  prehistoric  past  and  it  may  be  just  as  true 
as  any  problem  in  Euclid.  When  Plato  desired 
to  utter  some  specially  important  truth  he  used 
the  vehicle  of  the  myth.  When  we  are  dealing 
with  the  myth  we  do  not  ask,  Is  it  true  but  does 
it  convey  the  truth? 

The  Sadducees  once  came  to  Jesus  hoping  to 
trip  Him  in  His  talk.  A  poor  woman,  they  said, 
had  seven  husbands.  Now  in  Heaven  which  of 
the  seven  is  going  to  claim  her  ?  But  the  Master 
replied,  “  You  do  err  not  knowing  the  Scrip¬ 
tures,  for  in  Heaven  they  neither  marry  nor  are 
given  in  marriage  but  are  as  the  angels  of  God.  ’ ’ 
And  there  are  many  to-day  like  this  poor  woman. 
They  love  to  juggle  over  curious  questions. 
What  would  have  become  of  Adam  and  Eve  if 
they  had  not  eaten  the  forbidden  fruit?  Who 
was  Melchizedek’s  father?  Where  did  Jesus 
get  the  clothes  which  He  wore  after  the  resur¬ 
rection?  How  many  people  will  the  New  Jeru¬ 
salem  hold,  according  to  the  dimensions  given  in 
the  Apocalypse?  A  man  once  came  to  Mr. 
Moody  with  a  question  that  he  said  was  disturb¬ 
ing  him :  “  What  was  God  doing  before  He  made 
the  world?  ”  It  will  be  remembered  that  Mr. 
Bernard  Shaw  discusses  this  question  in  his  book 


SpUtttno  ibairs 


i67 


“Back  to  Methuselah.”  But  to  all  such  idle 
questions  the  Bible  is  impressively  silent. 

Consider  too  the  strange  conceptions  of  the 
Christian  life  itself.  Miss  Maude  Hoyden  told 
us  during  her  recent  visit  of  a  Sunday-school 
superintendent  with  whom  she  was  acquainted. 
The  man  was  the  assistant  manager  of  a  factory 
whose  business  was  the  manufacture  of  fetters 
for  slaves  in  Arabia.  He  expounds  to  the  chil¬ 
dren  on  Sunday  the  love  of  Christ,  and  during 
the  week  he  spends  his  time  making  things  that 
degrade  his  fellow  man.  Another  factory  she 
spoke  about  and  in  the  same  parish,  was  a  plant 
for  the  making  of  idols  for  the  peoples  of  heathen 
lands.  And  this  factory  likewise  is  controlled 
by  Christian  capital.  What  strange  and  mys¬ 
terious  hair-splitting  such  people  must  indulge 
in  to  shape  their  creed  to  their  conduct.  We 
are  reminded  of  John  Newton.  John  Newton 
wrote  many  of  our  beautiful  hymns:  “  How 
sweet  the  name  of  Jesus  sounds;  ”  4 4  Amazing 
grace  how  sweet  the  sound ;  ”  ‘  ‘  Glorious  things 
of  thee  are  spoken;  ”  “  Safely  through  another 
week.  ’ 9  But  the  ugly  fact  is  that  for  many  years 
after  his  conversion  John  Newton  did  continue 
to  carry  on  the  slave  trade.  Imagine  this  great 
divine  writing  these  words,  “  I  never  knew 
sweeter  or  more  frequent  hours  of  communion 
than  in  my  last  two  slave  voyages  to  Guinea.” 
It  is  true  that  near  the  end  and  after  he  had 


Splitting  Ibairs 


168 


abandoned  the  unholy  business,  he  wrote  these 
words:  “  I  was  a  wild  beast  on  the  west  coast 
of  Africa  but  the  Lord  caught  me  and  tamed 
me.”  But  one  wonders  what  strange  tuning  he 
must  have  indulged  in  to  harmonize  the  groan¬ 
ing  of  the  slave  with  the  rapture  of  the  poet. 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  is  that  it 
is  high  time  surely  for  the  Church  of  God  to 
learn  her  lesson.  She  must  stop  quibbling  and 
cavilling  and  trifling.  The  Master  was  a  big 
man.  He  did  not  spend  His  time  on  dots,  jots, 
strokes,  tittles.  His  theme  was  the  Kingdom  and 
that  is  a  mountainous  conception.  He  sent  His 
disciples  out  on  a  big  job.  “  Go  ye  and  teach 
all  nations.”  The  Kingdom  touches  the  whole 
circumference  of  human  behaviour.  It  reaches 
out  across  national  and  international  frontiers. 
“  Go  into  all  the  world.”  The  “  uttermost 
parts  ”  is  our  goal.  So  often  we  hear  the  phrase 
“  the  simple  Gospel.”  No  one  talks  of  simple 
science.  Who  claims  that  our  Gospel  is  simple? 
Contrariwise,  it  is  the  most  stupendous  mystery 
that  ever  challenged  the  intellect  and  heart  of 
man.  The  Apostle  to  the  Gentiles  called  it 
“  The  unsearchable  riches;  ”  “  the  wisdom  of 
God  in  a  mystery;  ”  “  the  secret  which  from 
the  beginning  hath  been  hid.” 


XV 

BECAUSE  I  LOVE  AMERICA 


HEN  some  one  once  expressed 
surprise  to  Mr.  Gladstone  that 
he  was  such  a  faithful  church 
attendant,  his  answer  was,  “  I 
go  to  church  because  I  love 
England.”  Was  it  not  a 
capital  rejoinder?  Why  should  not  every  true 
American  say,  I  go  to  church  because  I  love 
America.  Coulson  Kernaghan  has  a  little  book¬ 
let  entitled  “The  World  Without  a  Child.” 
What  would  happen  to  our  land,  he  argues,  if  it 
ceased  to  welcome  children,  if  the  race  should 
decide  to  no  longer  bring  children  into  the 
world!  Mr.  Kernaghan,  by  the  way,  is  fond  of 
picturing  hypothetical  situations  of  this  kind. 
Some  years  ago  he  published  a  brochure  called 
“  The  child,  the  wise  man  and  the  Devil.”  It 
was  an  allegorical  dream  in  which  the  author 
imagined  himself  to  be  transported  to  Rome, 
where  a  great  conclave  of  people  was  gathered 
to  depose  the  Christ.  They  were  all  agreed  that 
the  Man  of  Galilee  was  a  myth,  that  He  had 
never  lived.  And,  as  he  worked  it  out,  it  was  a 
rather  startling  conception — a  world  without  a 
Christ. 


169 


J70  Because  H  %ovc  Hmetica 


It  will  be  remembered  bow  some  fifty  years 
ago  the  late  Professor  Henry  Rogers  published 
a  volume  which  he  called  “  The  Eclipse  of 
Faith.’ ’  He  imagined  that  on  a  certain  morn¬ 
ing  the  world  awoke  to  find  that  it  had  no  Bible. 
Every  copy  of  the  Good  Book  had  strangely  dis¬ 
appeared  and  even  every  quotation  from  the 
sacred  page  had  in  some  unaccountable  way  been 
lost.  The  very  name  and  memory  of  the  Book 
were  gone.  A  world  without  a  Bible !  If  I  had 
the  gift  of  these  men,  I  should  like  to  attempt 
the  vision  of  a  world  without  a  church.  What 
a  strange  kind  of  world  would  it  be!  Stores, 
banks,  hotels,  garages,  theatres,  operas,  dancing 
halls,  asylums,  libraries,  hospitals,  warehouses, 
factories,  but  no  church.  Nothing  to  suggest 
man’s  immortal  nature!  Resorts  for  gaiety  and 
pleasure  and  recreation  and  rest,  but  no  resort 
for  the  spirit.  Restaurants  for  bread  and  butter 
but  no  restaurant  for  the  soul !  A  city  without 
a  church !  A  nation  without  a  church !  A 
world  without  a  church! 

There  can  be  little  question  I  think  that  so  far 
as  attendance  is  concerned,  the  Church  to-day  is 
on  the  wane.  People  are  not  attracted  to  the 
hill  of  Zion  as  in  the  days  of  yore ;  the  simplest 
explanation  perhaps  being  that  they  are  not 
interested.  The  place  has  lost  a  good  deal  of  its 
one  time  drawing  power.  As  Dr.  Cairns  tries  to 
show  in  his  survey  “  The  army  and  religion,” 


Because  fl  %ovc  Bmertca  m 


there  are  three  waves  of  criticism  pounding  at 
the  church  door  to-day.  First  it  lacks  the  spirit 
of  reality,  and  then  it  lacks  love,  and  worst  of 
all  it  lacks  life. 

But  the  criticisms  are  legion.  There  is  not 
time  to  even  cite  them.  Let  us  look  rather  at 
the  other  side.  What  has  the  Church  stood  for 
during  all  the  years  of  our  history?  What  has 
it  meant  to  the  life — say  of  the  American  people  ? 
What,  to  get  down  to  rock  bottom,  does  the  con¬ 
cept  itself  signif y  ?  What  does  it  symbolize  f  A 
church  to  begin  with  implies  a  building.  Every 
building  stands  for  something.  Here  is  a  bank. 
What  does  a  bank  represent?  A  bank  repre¬ 
sents  deposits,  exchange,  stocks,  bonds,  collateral. 
Here  is  a  school.  That  means  children,  teaching, 
discipline.  Here  is  a  picture  gallery.  That 
signifies  art,  beauty,  refinement.  Here  is  a  col¬ 
lege.  That  denotes  culture,  research,  scholarship. 
Well,  here  is  a  church.  Of  what  is  it  the  symbol  ? 
What  does  it  import?  What  is  its  prophecy? 
What  is  its  message  to  the  soul  of  man  ? 

And  certainly  the  first  answer  to  this  question 

is,  the  holiness  of  the  divine  life,  and  as  a  cor¬ 
ollary,  the  holiness  of  a  good  deal  of  our  human 
life.  When  we  ask  what  was  the  central  idea 
of  the  character  of  Jehovah  as  the  Jew  regarded 

it,  the  answer  unquestionably  is  holiness.  Be¬ 
yond  every  other  attribute  this  stood  out  as 
the  distinctive  differential  of  IsraeFs  God— -His 


*72  JSecause  tf  %ox>c  Hmerica 


Holiness.  Jehovah  was  the  high  and  holy  One 
that  inhabiteth  eternity.  All  the  laws  of  the 
old  economy  were  based  on  the  fact  of  the  divine 
holiness.  All  the  rites  performed  were  open 
bulletins  to  the  people  of  the  awful  holiness  of 
the  God  they  worshipped.  On  the  very  make  of 
the  tabernacle,  on  its  covering,  on  its  furniture, 
on  its  altars,  was  written  in  letters  of  burning 
flame,  “  Holiness  to  the  Lord.”  Every  vessel, 
every  censer,  every  lamp  was  declared  holy.  Be¬ 
cause  God  was  holy  the  place  was  holy,  the  min¬ 
ister  was  holy,  the  altar  was  holy,  the  ark  was 
holy,  the  oracle  was  holy — it  was  a  sanctuary. 
“  Holiness  becometh  Thy  house,  0  Lord  of  Hosts, 
forever.” 

We  see  this  in  the  etymology  of  the  word 
temple.  The  word  is  a  suggestive  word.  It  has 
a  rather  striking  history.  It  is  derived  from  the 
Greek  root,  temno,  to  cut.  What,  one  might 
ask,  has  cutting  to  do  with  a  temple?  Well, 
a  good  deal.  If  one  will  take  the  trouble 
to  travel  back  into  the  early  history  of 
primitive  man,  one  of  the  first  persons  he 
will  meet  will  be  a  priest.  He  will  perhaps 
be  going  out  to  measure  off  a  part  of  a 
field  with  a  tape-line.  After  measuring  it, 
he  takes  his  pickaxe  and  loosens  the  soil. 
That  is  to  say,  he  cuts  a  strip  all  around, 
and  separates  it  from  the  rest  and  calls 
it  sacred  ground;  he  cuts  it  off  from  common 


^Because  If  Slope  Bnterica  173 


usage.  Then  he  steps  inside  the  line  and  begins 
to  build  an  altar.  Gradually  an  altar  rises,  but 
still  he  calls  the  place  temple — not  a  building 
mark;  simply  the  ground  cut  off,  just  an  open 
field  with  an  altar  on  it !  In  course  of  time  walls 
rise  round  about  the  field  to  shut  out  the  heat 
and  the  damp  and  the  cold,  but  still  the  old 
name  is  retained — temple — part  cut  off.  To-day 
temple  means  building.  But  it  did  not  origi¬ 
nally  mean  a  building.  Yonder  corner  is  called 
a  temple,  not  because  there  is  a  building  on  it, 
but  because  the  ground  has  been  detached  and 
devoted  to  a  holy  purpose. 

No  doubt  some  one  will  call  this  superstition, 
but  is  it  superstition  to  insist  that  there  are 
some  things  in  life  that  are  sacred?  This  is  the 
fundamental  message  of  the  Church.  Jesus  never 
said  that  all  places  were  sacred  or  that  all  things 
were  sacred,  but  He  did  say  that  some  places 
were  and  that  some  things  were.  The  home  of 
your  childhood  is  not  like  every  other  house  to 
you ;  the  grave  of  your  mother,  the  scene  of  your 
sorrow,  the  stage  of  your  triumph — these  are 
not  common  spots.  Every  true  man  has  his 
elect  nook.  Poor  is  one’s  home  if  there  be  not 
some  quiet  corner  in  it  fronting  Jerusalem.  I 
have  noticed  that  the  man  who  begins  by  saying 
that  all  places  are  sacred  usually  ends  by  saying 
that  no  place  is  sacred.  Make  every  day  Sunday 
and  soon  you  will  have  no  Sunday.  It  is  worth 


J74  Because  If  Xoue  Bmertca 


remembering  that  the  divinest  life  in  history  had 
special  seasons — went  to  church,  read  the  Scrip¬ 
tures,  retired  for  prayer,  practised  the  presence 
of  God. 

Dr.  Fosdick  in  one  of  his  books  says:  “  If  a 
man  does  not  start  by  feeling  that  something  is 
sacred  he  will  never  feel  that  anything  is  sacri¬ 
legious.  That  temple  on  Zion  where  prayers  had 
been  offered  and  sins  had  been  forgiven  and  the 
glory  of  the  Lord  had  been  revealed — that  and 
all  things  associated  with  it  were  in  this  Jew’s 
eyes  sacred.  You  may  call  it  very  old-fashioned 
and  superstitious  thus  to  think  of  a  piece  of 
ground  as  holy,  but  I  would  rather  be  that 
ancient  Jew  and  think  a  piece  of  ground  holy 
than  be  as  some  modern  folks  on  whose  lives  we 
have  to  look,  who  seem  to  think  that  nothing  in 
life  is  holy  at  all.  All  that  is  lofty  and  beauti¬ 
ful,  excellent  and  august  in  human  life  has  come 
from  men  and  women  who  have  been  sure  that 
at  the  heart  of  life  is  something  that  ought  never 
to  be  violated.  If  Joseph  resists  the  solicitations 
of  impurity  in  Egypt  it  is  because  he  thinks 
that  honour  is  sacred.  If  the  three  hundred  at 
Thermopylae  withstand  with  remarkable  courage 
the  onslaught  of  many  foes  it  is  because  they 
think  that  loyalty  is  sacred.  If  John  Huss  at 
Constance  goes  to  the  stake  rather  than  lie  it  is 
because  he  thinks  that  truth  is  sacred.  All  that 
is  beautiful  in  human  life  is  associated  with  the 


because  IF  %ovc  Hmerica  175 


consciousness  in  the  hearts  of  men  that  there  is 
something  here  that  must  not  be  desecrated. 
You  may  go  into  any  country  in  any  generation 
and  you  will  find  religion  saying  about  some¬ 
thing,  “  This  is  holy.”  To  be  sure,  it  may  be 
only  a  painted  stick  or  a  hideous  idol  or  an  altar 
running  with  the  blood  of  sacrifice,  but  of  some¬ 
thing  religion  has  always  said,  “  This  is  holy.” 
Why  is  it  that  we  shrink  in  horror  from  the  type 
of  character  now  revealed  in  this  recrudescence 
of  banditry  in  New  York  City;  is  not  the  reason 
this:  that  men  show  us  lives  in  which  they  do 
not  seem  to  find  anything  holy  at  all?  Human 
life  itself  is  not  holy;  they  take  it  for  a  song. 
Truth  is  not  holy;  they  lie  with  ease.  Friend¬ 
ship  is  not  holy;  they  betray  their  own  without 
a  qualm;  nowhere  in  their  lives  a  spot  where 
they  hear  a  voice,  “  The  place  whereon  thou 
standest — holy  ground.”  Think  what  it  means 
to  range  through  the  whole  expanse  of  your  ex¬ 
perience  and  not  find  a  single  place  before  which 
you  stand  in  reverence,  concerning  which  you 
think  it  ought  not  to  be  desecrated !  There  is  no 
lower  abyss  possible  to  character  than  the  loss  of 
all  sense  of  sacredness  in  life.” 

There  never  was  a  time  in  the  history  of  our 
country  when  the  Church  of  the  living  God  was 
such  a  crying  need  as  to-day,  if  for  no  other  rea¬ 
son  for  this,  that,  the  place  is  a  symbol  of  saered- 
ness,  a  sanctuary,  a  hallowed  spot  from  which 


Mi  Because  fl  Xoue  Bmertca 


the  message  of  the  Divine  holiness  is  proclaimed. 
What  the  world  needs  to-day  as  never  before  is 
devoutness.  We  have  lost  the  old  prophetic 
sense  of  awe.  The  sin  of  the  age  is  sacrilege. 
The  trouble  with  our  time  is  profanity.  Vul¬ 
garity  and  loudness  and  godlessness  are  written 
large  all  over  our  national  life.  Everywhere 
there  is  the  worship  of  the  sensual  and  the  sexual. 
There  is  disregard  of  the  sacredness  of  marriage, 
there  is  a  rejection  of  Christian  principles  in 
business,  in  politics,  in  diplomacy,  in  interna¬ 
tional  statesmanship.  If  we  look  at  what  Emer¬ 
son  calls  “  the  solid  angularity  of  facts  ”  we 
see  decadence  on  every  side.  Our  whole 
system  of  education  is  fast  approaching  pagan¬ 
ism.  Instance  the  Press!  Most  of  our  news¬ 
papers,  even  the  best  ones,  will  publish  whole 
pages  of  sickening  details  about  a  murder  or  a 
scandal,  while  they  can  hardly  find  half  a  column 
of  space  for  a  single  paragraph  concerning  the 
upper  heights  of  really  noble  thought.  A  trav¬ 
eller  was  telling  us  recently  of  returning  from 
Europe  on  a  ship  that  sailed  under  the  American 
flag.  She  belonged  to  our  own  government.  In 
the  hold  of  the  ship  were  several  hundred  bodies 
of  dead  soldiers.  On  Sunday  morning  a  relig¬ 
ious  service  was  held  in  the  cabin  conducted  by 
the  captain.  “  Hardly  was  the  benediction  pro¬ 
nounced  before  there  was  a  rush,  and  the  dancing 
began/ 7  The  grand  draped  ocean  liner,  with 


Because  IF  %ovc  Bmerfca  \n 


flags  half  mast,  and  slowly  ploughing  her  way 
on  her  funeral  march,  echoed  to  the  rattle  of 
brass  bands  and  jazz  music. 

“  The  cymbals  crash  and  the  dancers  walk, 

With  long  silk  stockings  and  arms  of  chalk, 

Butterfly  skirt's  and  white  breasts  bare 

And  the  shadows  of  dead  men  watching  ’em  there.” 

There  are  many  perils  confronting  our  coun¬ 
try  to-day.  We  have  idolatry  and  superstition 
and  mammon-worship  and  vulgar  luxury  and 
drunkenness  and  licentiousness  and  disregard  for 
law  and  human  life.  In  the  midst  of  these  evils 
“the  Church  seems  terribly  circumscribed,  hope¬ 
lessly  outnumbered,  frequently  overpowered,  al¬ 
ways  outgeneralled.  ’  ’  But  the  violent  perils  are 
not  our  greatest  dangers.  The  waves  that  beat 
against  the  ship  are  sometimes  not  as  dangerous 
as  the  worms.  There  are  many  who  feel  that  our 
greatest  foes  are  sly,  silent,  submarine,  under 
water. 

A  book  has  just  issued  from  the  press  entitled 
“  Tales  of  the  Jazz  Age.”  The  title  is  signifi¬ 
cant.  Surely  if  ever  we  need  to-day  some 
shrines,  holy  places  where  we  drop  the  voice  and 
cultivate  the  softer  tones.  The  hour  of  worship 
is  a  protest  against  the  life  that  is  sordid.  In 
these  days  of  revolution  and  unrest  do  we  not 
need  some  hints  of  the  unseen?  The  Church 
stands  like  a  pillar  amid  the  swirling  surges  of 
our  turbulent  American  life  to  bear  witness  to 


J78  because  IF  %ox>c  Bmertca 


the  things  that  are  sacred — love,  faith,  hope, 
marriage,  justice,  courage,  truth,  immortality, 
prayer.  The  age  is  mad.  What  is  going  to  stem 
its  madness?  The  aim  of  the  Church  is  to  call 
us  back  to  soberness  and  sanity.  Has  not  the 
time  come  when  every  lover  of  his  country  should 
say,  “  I  go  to  church  because  I  love  America  ’  ’  ? 

So  many  ways  to  spend  one’s  money; 

So  many  courses  to  eat  and  drink ; 

So  many  irons  in  life’s  hot  furnace ; 

So  little  time  to  think. 

So  many  places  to  go  for  pleasure ; 

Hurrying,  rushing  at  breakneck  speed ; 

Cabarets,  dance-halls,  theatres,  functions; 

So  little  time  to  read. 

So  many  outings  to  make  on  Sundays — 

The  national  sporting  gala-day; 

Golfing,  autoing,  week-end  visiting; 

So  little  time  to  pray. 

What  of  the  Church  in  all  this  ferment? 

What  of  our  country,  its  drift,  its  goal  ? 

What  speaketh  Wisdom  to  all  this  madness? 

Husks  to  the  nation’s  soul. 


XVI 

THE  SKYSCRAPER  AND  THE  HOME 


AVING  lived  for  the  past  ten 
years  in  an  apartment,  and 
now  being  happily  domiciled  in 
a  home,  I  am  writing  these 
words  with  a  strange  feeling  of 
ownership !  Never  during  our 
ten  years’  city  experience  were  we  able  to  think 
of  the  skyscraper  we  tenanted  as  a  house.  It 
always  impressed  us  as  a  sort  of  public  institu¬ 
tion,  and  as  for  thinking  of  it  as  a  home,  that 
idea  was  never  seriously  entertained.  We  did 
not  live  in  it.  We  just  stayed  in  it.  Nobody  any 
more  thinks  of  New  York  as  a  place  to  live  in; 
it  is  a  place  to  go  and  visit  for  a  few  weeks  or 
months,  going  the  rounds  of  the  theatres  and 
music  halls;  perhaps  a  place  to  go  and  preach 
to  the  sinners,  maybe  just  a  great  wilderness  of 
forests  and  financiers  where  one  can  be  found 
any  day  from  nine  in  the  morning  till  five  in 
the  afternoon  hunting  game,  and  then  to  hurry 
away  from  as  summarily  as  possible. 

But  now  I  am  no  longer  an  urban ;  I ’m  a  sub¬ 
urban.  And  I  live  in  a  house,  in  a  home  be  it 
noted,  and  there  are  many  new  experiences.  It 

179 


m  Gfte  Skyscraper  anb  tbe  Dome 


is  like  living  one’s  life  over  again.  The  sensa¬ 
tion  of  going  up  and  down-stairs  for  instance 
seems  strangely  unfamiliar.  After  ten  years  of 
flat  monotony  one  almost  forgets  that  there  are 
such  things  as  stairs.  Milne  in  one  of  his  essays 
tells  of  moving  into  his  new  home  and  what  a 
fascination  the  stairs  had  for  him.  For  a  full 
decade  it  was  “  getting  up  for  breakfast,  now  it 
is  coming  down.  ’ 7  A  few  summers  ago  when  our 
youngest  was  labouring  hard  trying  to  get  the 
use  of  his  limbs,  we  took  him  visiting.  And  the 
thing  that  interested  us  most  during  our  visit 
was  in  observing  how  the  little  codger ’s  greatest 
delight  was  in  negotiating  the  stairs.  He  had 
never  seen  stairs  before,  and  they  were  an  un¬ 
tiring  source  of  interest.  Up  and  down  he 
would  pull  himself,  with  the  aid  of  the  bannister, 
from  morning  to  night.  And  in  this  I  cannot 
help  noting  how  like  a  child  I  am  again.  I  find 
myself  going  up  and  down  just  for  the  novelty 
of  the  adventure,  or  perhaps  to  be  sure  that  the 
old  body  is  functioning.  It  seems  to  act  as  a 
recall  of  one’s  childhood.  And  what  a  muscle 
builder  it  is !  For  the  past  decade  we  were  shot 
up  to  our  little  nest  on  the  tenth  floor  in  a  lift 
and  then  down  again,  along  with  a  lot  of  other 
cliff  dwellers.  I  never  realized  that  my  legs 
were  getting  tottery  until  one  day  at  Wykagyl 
when  scaling  that  mountain  familiar  to  golfers 
on  the  way  to  the  eighteenth  green.  “Why,”  I 


Ube  Skyscraper  anb  tbe  Ibome  m 


panted  to  my  partner,  “I  believe  my  legs  are 
giving  out.”  “Come  and  buy  a  bouse  in  the 
country  like  me,”  he  made  answer;  “it  won’t  be 
long  till  New  Yorkers  have  no  legs.” 

Then  think  of  having  one’s  own  fireplace,  a 
real  one  too,  none  of  your  imitation  gas  arrange¬ 
ments,  but  a  big  genuine  stone  fireplace  with  a 
real  chimney  where  great  pine  logs  without  any 
holes  in  them  crackle  and  blaze,  and  warm  our 
toes  and  stir  our  reveries  and  cheer  our  hearts. 
Then  think  of  being  able  to  strum  away  at  the 
piano  to  one’s  heart’s  melodious  content,  and 
just  when  one  feels  like  it,  without  his  conscience 
pricking  him  that  possibly  he  may  be  disturbing 
his  next  door  neighbour  on  the  other  side  of  the 
plaster.  This  very  morning  indeed,  the  first 
thing  that  caught  my  eye  in  the  Times  was  the 
story  of  one  of  New  York’s  400  being  summoned 
to  the  police  court  to  answer  a  charge  of  con¬ 
ducting  a  disorderly  apartment.  It  seems  that 
one  Sunday  night  she  had  had  a  musicale  dur¬ 
ing  which  the  orchestra  disturbed  the  tenant  on 
the  floor  below.  And  indeed  one  can  quite 
understand  the  feelings  of  this  poor  tormented 
sufferer.  Because  for  years  I  have  tried  to  do 
a  little  after  dinner  light  reading  myself,  when 
the  more  serious  worries  of  the  day  were  over. 
So  I  picked  me  out  a  room  remote  (if  one  can 
call  anything  in  an  apartment  remote),  and 
therein  moved  my  morris-chair  and  my  writing 


*82  Uhc  Skyscraper  anb  tbe  Dome 


table  and  some  magazines.  No  sooner  done  than 
my  neighbour  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  pushed 
her  piano  alongside  of  my  writing  desk,  and  her 
little  girl  started  taking  music  lessons.  And  as 
luck,  or  something  worse,  would  have  it,  her 
hours  for  practice  coincided  exactly  with  my 
hours  for  light  reading  and  I  had  a  free  enter¬ 
tainment  every  evening.  And  to  make  matters 
still  more  interesting,  the  gentleman  who  lived 
next  door  to  us  on  the  other  side  of  our  cliff 
dwelling  did  not  seem  to  live  on  the  most  af¬ 
fectionate  terms  with  his  wife ;  or  perhaps  it  was 
the  other  way,  for  these  were  the  days  before  the 
18th  Amendment  and  the  poor  unfortunate  had 
an  over-fondness  for  something  stronger  than 
apollinaris,  and  the  screams  she  would  utter  and 
the  anathemas  she  would  invoke  would  not  in¬ 
frequently  give  us  another  free  entertainment. 

I  cannot  say  with  my  humorous  friend  who 
filed  a  complaint  that  the  tenant  on  the  skyward 
side  of  his  abode  was  a  pupil  of  Pavlowa,  as  the 
plastered  ceiling  here  and  there  bore  unwelcome 
evidence.  For  our  excellent  and  exalted  neigh¬ 
bours  were  most  peaceful  and  desirable  and 
charming  folk.  The  only  accusation  I  have 
against  them  is  another  grievance  that  Milne 
mentions,  viz.,  that  sometimes  in  taking  a  bath 
they  would  forget  the  faucet.  It  seems  the  good 
wife  was  afflicted  with  insomnia,  for  which  her 
physician,  so  I  was  subsequently  informed,  had 


ZEbe  Skyscraper  anb  tbe  ibome  J83 


prescribed  a  hot  salt  bath  on  retiring.  So  she 
would  turn  on  the  bath  in  plenty  of  time  and 
then  go  off  and  prepare  herself  for  the  treatment, 
occasionally  overlooking  the  running  solution, 
and  so  giving  us  the  benefit  of  the  overdose.  So 
that  when  all  the  evidence  is  in,  and  I  look  back 
soberly  and  serenely  on  my  ten  years’  stay  in 
the  great  city’s  crowded  lodgings,  I  feel  a  little 
like  another  discontent  who  once  remarked  to  me 
in  her  country  retreat,  “  I  don’t  see  why  these 
places  should  be  called  Apartments;  I  think  a 
much  better  name  would  be  Togetherments.  ” 
But  now  I  live  in  a  house  of  my  own  by  the 
side  of  the  hill  and  we  are  spared  all  this  free 
performance.  Of  course  I’m  a  commuter  and  I 
have  quite  a  trip  each  day,  but  then  I  do  not 
have  to  hold  on  to  a  strap,  crushed  in  with  hun¬ 
dreds  of  other  poor  sufferers  of  civilization  and 
stupidity  on  their  tired  way  home.  I  do  not 
have  to  watch  my  step  and  worm  myself  into  a 
dirty  germ-laden  subterranean  conveyance,  or 
be  jammed  in  unceremoniously  by  a  guard  as  if 
one  were  mixed  up  in  a  football  scrimmage.  I 
am  not  forced  to  undergo  the  immoral  experience 
of  being  squeezed  like  a  human  sardine  in  a 
sealed  can.  I  can  always  have  my  seat,  and  I 
can  always  have  my  newspaper.  No  sooner  in¬ 
side  the  gates  than  I  have  an  easy  feeling  of 
relief  that  all  ducking  and  dodging  for  one  day 
more  are  over.  I  get  away  from  the  crowd  and 


*84  Ube  Skyscraper  anb  tbe  Ifoorne 


the  crush  and  the  concrete  and  the  city  of  dread¬ 
ful  pleasures,  and  then  when  I  arrive  I  can 
always  have  my  quiet. 

For  that  is  one  thing  that  no  mortal  must  ever 
expect  in  New  York.  It  is  the  noisiest  place  on 
the  map.  The  air  is  rent  with  harshness,  the 
night  is  hideous  with  racket  and  deafening 
shrieks.  Peddlers,  newsboys,  old  clothes  men, 
fruit  vendors  still  cry  their  wares.  Up  and 
down  our  concourse  I  have  counted  in  fifteen 
minutes  500  vehicles  of  every  size  and  shape  and 
character  and  colour.  As  a  police  officer  said  to 
us  recently:  4 ‘Look  down  that  Avenue;  it  looks 
as  if  cars  just  cost  a  nickel.”  On  one  side  was 
the  elevated,  on  the  other  was  a  double  surface 
line,  while  down  below  the  automobiles  were 
parked  in  rows  with  their  honks  of  hooting  horns. 
It  was  like  trying  to  sleep  in  a  public  garage. 

But  now  we  have  the  peace  of  the  hills.  From 
the  station  we  climb  up  through  a  row  of  silver 
beeches  and  fine  old  walnuts,  clambering  part 
way  over  rocks  that  crop  out  through  the  soil, 
up  to  our  cozy  cedar  knoll,  from  which  one  can 
gaze  over  a  long  line  of  wooded  country.  We 
can  sit  in  our  sun  parlour  and  look  out  across  the 
meadow  and  the  burn  and  watch  the  sun  go 
down.  We  welcome  the  primroses  and  daffodils 
just  arriving  on  the  heels  of  winter.  We  can 
linger  and  count  the  stars  as  they  come  timidly 
out.  Of  course  our  pipes  burst  and  our  water 


T£be  Sfesscvaper  an&  tbe  t)ome  185 


overflows  too  sometimes,  and  occasionally  we  for¬ 
get  to  put  the  coal  on,  and  every  now  and  then 
we  have  to  dig  out  our  goloshes  and  our  mittens 
and  go  forth  and  shovel  some  of  our  way  to 
Grand  Central.  But  then  think  of  the  sunsets. 
What  are  snow-banks  compared  with  sunsets! 
Why,  I  haven’t  seen  a  sunset  in  the  city  for 
years.  My  sun  always  went  down  behind  a  sky¬ 
scraper. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  one  more  trouble 
about  living  on  the  tenth  floor.  You  never  know 
how  to  dress  in  the  morning.  You  cannot  step 
out  on  the  veranda  and  see  how  cold  it  is.  You 
never  know  how  strong  the  wind  is  blowing  or 
how  fiercely  the  rain  is  beating.  Not  until  you 
are  four  blocks  away  do  you  decide,  this  overcoat 
is  too  light  and  I  must  hie  me  back  and  get  my 
fur;  or  it’s  too  heavy,  I  must  retrace  my  steps 
and  get  summer  weight.  Better  have  rubbers 
too.  Of  course  you  are  always  forgetting  the 
umbrella.  And  anyway,  as  another  friend  re¬ 
marked,  e  1  I’m  tired  looking  down  on  people; 
I’d  rather  see  them  on  the  level.” 

There  is  quite  a  fad  in  New  York  to-day  in 
regard  to  buying  one’s  own  apartment.  That 
has  always  seemed  a  bit  ethereal.  A  home  in  the 
air  seems  somewhat  intangible.  “  When  I  can 
read  my  title  clear  to  mansions  in  the  skies” 
may  be  good  theology  but  I  must  confess  to  a 
little  suspicion  as  to  its  economic  wisdom.  And 


*86  ftbe  Skyscraper  anb  tbe  Dome 


even  its  theology  is  questionable.  The  apart¬ 
ment  is  not  favourable  to  the  religious  life.  Re¬ 
ligion  does  not  seem  to  thrive  in  the  atmosphere 
of  skyscrapers;  it  needs  homes.  Churches  only 
prosper  where  there  are  homes.  I  haven’t  much 
real  estate  where  I  am,  it  is  true,  but  then  it’s 
real  and  it’s  estate  and  it’s  on  rock,  and  best  of 
all  I  insist,  it’s  home.  For  we  never  called  our 
corner  in  the  clouds  home.  The  question  was 
never  asked,  What  time  will  you  be  home  this 
evening?  It  was  always,  “What  time  will  you 
be  up?”  or  “What  time  will  you  be  in?”  or 
“What  time  will  you  be  here?”  It  was  “up” 
or  “  in  ”  or  “  here,  ’  ’  never  home.  When  Herbert 
Spencer  began  to  write  his  great  system  of  ethics, 
a  critic  said  of  it  that  it  reminded  him  of  the 
architect  that  Gulliver  met  in  his  travels  who  had 
contrived  a  new  method  to  erect  houses  by  be¬ 
ginning  with  the  roof  and  working  down.  And 
that  is  a  good  deal  how  buying  an  apartment 
seems.  It  looks  a  little  like  laying  a  foundation 
for  a  habitation  by  starting  with  the  rafters  or 
the  gable  end.  The  wiser  way  would  seem  to  be 
to  break  ground  with  terra  firma  and  commence 
with  granite  and  drill  and  concrete,  and  so  on 
to  cellar  and  basement  and  tenth  floor.  There  is 
a  tendency  to-day  to  swing  away  from  the  sub¬ 
stantial.  De  Quincy  said  of  Coleridge:  “  He 
lives  in  the  sky ;  he  wants  better  bread  than  can 
be  made  with  wheat.”  As  for  myself,  I  prefer 


Ufoe  Skyscraper  ant>  tbe  f)ome  X37 


to  keep  firm  hold  of  the  definite  and  the  tangible. 
I  prefer  wheat,  flour,  facts,  figures,  foundation, 
iron,  steel,  brick,  marble,  real  estate.  In  the¬ 
ology  I  like  to  dismiss  speculation  as  far  as 
possible.  I  am  not  much  inclined  even  to  mys¬ 
ticism.  I  favour  history,  testimony,  witnesses, 
signatures,  evidence,  credentials,  documents — in 
a  word  chapter  and  verse.  Otherwise  like  Ixion 
we  are  embracing  a  cloud. 


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the  Book  of  Revelation. 

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brings  the  Revelation  down  into 
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C.  E.  World. 


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PHILIP  MAURO  Author  of  “ The  Number  of  Man ” 

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Continuing  his  study  of  the  Kingdom,  the  author  in 
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WILLIAM  P.  MERRILL ,  D.D. 

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The  Common  Creed  of  Christians 

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EDWIN  LINCOLN  HOUSE ,  D.D. 

The  Glory  of  Going  On 

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HERBERT  BOOTH  SMITH ,  D.  D. 

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Thoroughly  devout,  believing  fervently  in  the  ultimate 
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PRAYER  AND  EVANGELISM 


JOHN  HENRY  JOWETT ,  D.D. 

4 ‘Come  Ye  Apart” 

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words  some  great  eternal  fact.” 
-—Christian  Work. 


WILLIAM  E.  BIEDERWOLF,  D.D. 

Lectures  Delivered  at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary 

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EDWARD  M.  BOUNDS 

Purpose  in  Prayer 

i2tno,  net  $1.25. 

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A.  B.  SIMPSON ,  D.D. 

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the  first  time, 


PRAYER  AND  DEVOTION AJ. 


A 


H.  L.  WILLETT  and  C.  C.  MORRISON 

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F.  B.  MEYER 

Daily  Devotional  Commentary 

Notes  on  Every  Chapter  Throughout  the 
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tute  an  exposition  of  the  most  important  facts  and  doc¬ 
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E.  M.  BOUNDS 

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A  Place,  A  City,  A  Home. 

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knowledge  of  Holy  Scripture,  a  man 
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ticipation  of  the  eternal  felicity 
awaiting  the  faithful  believer.  This 
book  should  be  hailed  with  unfeigned 
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and  women.” — Christian  Woi‘k. 


EDWARD  LEIGH  PELL  Author  of  “ Secrets  of 
- - — — — — —  Sunday  School  Teaching ” 

What  Did  Jesus  Really  Teach  About 
Prayer?  $1.50 

Dr.  Pell’s  new  book  is  a  helpful  inquiry  into  the  ques¬ 
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the  fact  that  Christ  in  this,  as  in  all  other  matters  re¬ 
lating  to  spiritual  life  and  growth,  is  the  great  Pattern 
for  us  all. 


of  “purpose  is  Murex"  e*. 

HEAVEN 

A  Pfc<e — A  City— A  Home 

By  EDWARD  M.  BOUNDS 

C'Mora <4  H «■«<■*  M  wgf  ib  Kcovbr* 

b  ww'wbVf  fin  o*4  "iueW" 

ol  Ak  tomtAabfe  —mi.  Poocncd  e(  •  -o* 
I'lfl  of  Hijy  Snipfem,  • 

•*"  ww«rrmj  Mtl,  and  rninxmi  mci|fa. 
Mt.  Bociri  WTITo  A  tnnMtncr 

■"*1  pr-n  MMfmi  c4  tk«  cvnnaJ  l«W, 
a— ,iOkf  ftto  Ukkhd  Mlrvw  is  iU  '  Ur  i  —  a, 

Hotosof  fkf  Soul.*  Tkio  book  Aosb  b*  talaf 
onlornW  Wnl.eTVm  b ,  4*rt»rt  CVwUb 
•ko  im  vwk.  A  £*»  «  .  hm 

«i*»  asnr  <4  <Ss  eU  fo«bt  ipd  hrJy-Ji  ^ 

ohm  chaJVoftd  mi  ctcaiA 


fLIHIKC  &  IIVCIL'CON^ART,  4 


Princeton  Theologica 


Seminary  Libraries 


012  01236  4768 


Date  Due 

N  15" 

18 

■V  -  « 

- 

9 

